


The Crusade of the Red Dragon King

by The_Knight_Eternal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crusader Kings 2 - Freeform, Dragons, F/M, Harems, Self-Insert, The Golden Company (ASoIaF), The Unsullied (ASoIaF), canals, uplifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Knight_Eternal/pseuds/The_Knight_Eternal
Summary: What if you were SI'ed into Viserys Targaryen just before the start of canon, but with the ability to see and control (somewhat) the world via a Crusader Kings 2 style interface, along with Command Console Cheats?Not all the functionality of this is available to you, but enough is to make things rather easy for you.What would happen, how would canon go off the rails and what would be the outcome?
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Viserys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister/Viserys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen/Viserys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Viserys Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell, Viserys Targaryen/Myrcella Baratheon
Comments: 59
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

“Welcome to Crusader Kings 2 – the Westerosi edition”

Huh? What was this, and why could I not see anything except the familiar login screen for Crusader Kings 2 – this sure was a strange dream.....

Well not that familiar, it looked quite a bit different, hrmmmm. Like I said, a weird dream, like the one I had last night about a game developer company with the some of the staff of the company I work for, and weird (bit still recognisable) game play, all jumbled up with a very messy house that was their company HQ, Like I said strange, but on par for some of my weirder dreams. 

Anyway, this looks like CK2 but with the Westeros/GOT mod enabled, strange, I have CK2 with the full DLL pack, I never installed the GOT mod pack. So I jump right in, huh, my character is Viserys Targaryen, among the least favourite characters, for some reason I don’t try and change this and instead dive straight into the Console Menu and start cheating to my heart’s content. Anybody who knows the CK2 Command Console knows what gets done, the 5 attributes get a healthy buff to 100 across the board, and then it’s time to grag as many positive Traits as possible, along with Artefacts and Books. Some of the Traits that are you are not able to have at the same time in the base CK2 are available to stack, like Genius and Quick, so that’s nice. Only seven Targaryen looking Traits, I click on them without even reading fully the description, it’s a dream and I don’t seem to have full control over what I’m doing. 

The Leadership Traits I max out because why not? I take all the ones that seem applicable and that are available to my character. 

The list of artefacts and books is rather limited, but I take all I want and then check out my character’s overall stats –

Diplomacy – 140  
Martial – 175  
Stewardship – 136  
Intrigue – 149  
Learning – 142  
Health – 119  
Fertility – 100%  
Personal Combat Skills – 280  
Sex Appeal – 210  
Attractiveness – 185 (485)

Not bad, now to give him a truck load of money, no sense in him being the ‘beggar King’ now is there, let me see, how does 1 million Gold sound for starters? 

Before I can dig around further a ping that sounds like an MS Teams message alert sounds and everything goes black. 

“Viserys?” I heard a timid voice ask “are, are you okay?”

I opened my eyes, groaning as light stabbed into my eyeballs, before counting to ten and slowly opening one eye.

Definitely not my bedroom, that much was obvious, wooden ceiling, pale stone walls.....okay what the fuck was this?

“Viserys?” came the voice again, more insistent sounding, I turn my head to see the worried face of a young teenage girl with silver/gold hair and huge violet eyes.

Fuck me, really? 

Viserys I

“Viserys?” the timid voice asks again, a soft, tiny hand touching my shoulder hesitantly.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.....

“Do, do you need me to get a healer for you, are you unwell my brother?” the terrified voice of Daenerys Targaryen ask me, I can sense the girl is trembling with fright.

“Sorry...” I cough, my voice rough from seeming disuse “Sorry sweet sister, I, I am not myself this morn....” reasonably coherent and not too far from the truth I hope, though my voice is very much deeper than I expected.

“When, when you fell ill, I, I feared the worst, that you might die!” Danny started sobbing, wracking cries of fear and loss.

I heaved myself up in the bed, turning to more fully see Danny, she was a 13 year old girl, who looked vaguely like she might look like Emilia Clarke when she was older. Huge violet eyes brimming with tears gazed at me, thick silver/golden hair cascaded from her head and down her back, she was dressed in a good quality silk dress appropriate for the climate, which felt to me like it was Mediterranean.

“How, how long was I ill for?” I ask this little girl who is my sister, huh...I’d never had a sister, just one brother, this was going to be interesting, and I’d always wanted a sister funnily enough.

“You, you fell ill three days ago Viserys, you could not be woken from your sleep, and then you showed signs of awakening a few minutes ago. The Healer has come and went, you did not wake but seemed more aware of your surroundings, and, then you just....woke up....”

This prompted a flood of tears from Daenerys, wait? Wasn’t she supposed to, well, hate Viserys by this stage, given her age and if this was book canon she was soon to be married off to Khal Drogo. Well that was not happening and the fat Cheesmonger can fuck right off with himself if he thinks I’m allowing that to happen!

Memories of the life of the body I was now occupying were flooding into my mind, not in a chaotic way but in an amazingly controlled manner, it was almost a pleasant and calming experience. Not so much the actual memories themselves, nor the fact that I had been a monstrous shit to Danny, all up until six months ago.

Then ‘I’ had apparently underwent a 180 degree change of heart, came into a load of money and brought Danny away from the Free Cities to where we were now, an estate 200 miles east of Pentos in the foothills of the Velvet Hills. Add to that the fact that ‘I’ had started to train at swordsmanship like a demented madman, engaging the services of several assorted swordmasters, and one Syrio Florell.

Huh....interesting, it was then that I noticed the Crusader Kings 2 Icon in the bottom left of my vision....Oh yeah right.....

Deciding that I had nothing to lose I let my gaze focus on the Icon and I saw it ‘click’, a pop up window filling my vision, around the edges of the pop up the room seemed to have gone fuzzy and indistinct looking, also it looked to be frozen in place.

‘The changes introduced in the last six months of Game Time were to accommodate the changes and edits you made to your Character prior to your insertion into the Game. Any subsequent Changes or Edits will be applied when you close the Crusader Kings 2 Interface.’

Okay.......now how to open the Command Console, OH! There is was, it must be the act of thinking about it....I’ll leave it for now, I’ll dip into it when in a while, for now I’m starving.

Closing down the CK2 interface I smile at Danny, her fear and terror now make sense, her brother had been much nicer to her in the last few months and had ensconced her in a nice place to live with all the necessary comforts. And she was fearful of losing all this if I died, a not unreasonable assumption given her life experience so far.

“I, I assure you sister mine that I am well, please have no more concerns, now if I could get something to eat perhaps, I am very hungry” my stomach growling in counterpoint just as I spoke.

Daenerys sniffed and wiped her eyes, a little giggle escaping her mouth at the audio antics of my stomach and I rolled away from her and got out of bed, hearing a gasp from Daenerys from behind me.

Fuck, I’m naked, bad me.....I look around and spot a black silk robe, reaching out for it I put it on, it’s not much but it at least covers me up so I’m not naked in front of my pubescent sister. 

“If you don’t mind Danny, have a tray sent to the room, I’ll eat here, I have a lot to think about sister.”

“Yes Viserys” she replies, her face a delightful shade of pink, as she fairly bolted from the room as my gaze fell upon her.

Hrmmm, that was uncomfortable to say the least.

With Danny gone I explore my room, it’s fairly luxurious for Planetos, but not overly gaudy, form my memories I’m in a fortified villa that I have rented for several years, it’s very reminiscent of Roman Agricultural villas of the later empire period in its design and layout. The estate is a working Latifundium style operation, the market garden piece feeds the Villa while the large scale agriculture is actually separately owned and operated. The owner rents out the Villa as he has moved away to live in a local town. 

It’s more than big enough, isolated enough and comfortable enough for our, or in truth my purposes, namely it’s secure enough to protect us and it gives me some privacy to train and plot, using the handy exploit of the CK2 Interface and its Command Console.

Well it was technically provided by the ‘Game’ but whatever, it worked for me. 

A servant girl opened the door and bowing to me walked in with a tray of foods, a second serving girl behind her carried in another tray. They set the food down on a table and leave, the two girls a little flushed I notice.

The food smells utterly delicious, it looks middle-eastern, minced meat kebabs – lamb mostly, but with a mixed lamb and chicken one – that’s an Iranian speciality if I remember? Flatbread, rice, various vegetables, roasted or raw, and a yoghurt based drink round out the meal. 

I descend on it like a man starved, which I am, and devour it all in no time, feeling full but not stuffed afterwards. 

Now time for some serious delving into the CK2 Interface and the Command Console and let’s see what we can see? 

Shutting it down no time has passed in the ‘real world’, or should that be the ‘game world’? Anyway I know a bit more about things after a good root around. The map is like the CK2 one except it gives more detail and information about each province/county etc. It also gives you a zoom-able birds eye view of the actual area in real time, a rather handy and nifty feature I think, no more getting surprised on a battle field for a start.

I’d taken a good long look at my own stats, traits and artefacts, and checked them against others, and I did not need a character ID to find them either, just their name. Seems I was a demi-god among men, my stats put me up to five times above average that I could see, for example my personal combat skill at 280 was three times that of Jamie Lannister. So that was good I suppose? Though what that actually meant I was not sure, I had the memories of my six months in training and I thought I was pretty good, but I had yet to actually engage in any real combat so to speak.

Some of the Traits I had picked made me blush; apparently a combination of GIANT and STONES OF THE DRAGON gave me a set of balls that were frankly cartoonish in how large they were, ditto for PILLAR OF THE DRAGON, which resulted in a cock which looked so large flaccid as to be impossible to fit inside any woman comfortably when erect.

Add GIANT to BRAWNY, STRONG and STURDY and you got a seven and a half foot tall brick shithouse physique, all slabs of sculpted, hard muscle, and a far cry from Viserys earlier rather frail body, and light years away from my former self. Classical Valyrian features rounded out the look, and I had ridiculously high SEX APPEAL and ATTRACTIVENESS Stats, so the new me was quite the handsome devil. 

But I was still left with no Army, and CK2’s Command Console could not help me this regard, I could not magic units into existence. But what I could magic into existence was gold; I could, unlike Tywin Lannister, shit gold. Not literally, but I could up the amount of money I had to an astronomical amount that I wanted. So I could now pay for the Golden Company and other Mercenary Companies to help me re-conquer Westeros. 

But the little problem with that was that there were not enough mercenaries in Essos to actually conquer Westeros, so any plans for an immediate invasion were out, Alliances would have to be made with former Loyalists etc. And that brought with it compromises and the possibility of betrayal and a messy civil war.

Not that Westeros was not going to devolve into such anyway, which might be to my advantage, stepping in as a ‘white knight’ – oh wait, that was fAegon’s role was it not?

And yes he existed in this universe, so Varys and Illyrio’s plan was to sideline Danny and I and then get the Young Griff to return as the saviour of Westeros. Though said ‘young griff’ was actually Illyrio’s own son and thus a Blackfyre and not a Targaryen. 

Well I said he existed, actually he existed in the past tense as the moment I’d brought up him and his ‘dad’ I’d used the KILL command to dispatch both of them forthwith. Rather frustratingly this option seemed to be unavailable for several other fucks who needed to die forthwith, like Baelish, though maybe keeping him alive was to my ultimate benefit? Anyway the option to kill Baelish using the KILL command was not working.

Now with their Perfect Prince a rotting corpse somewhere on the Upper Rhoyne, what would the Spider and the Cheesemonger do next? Most likely move onto Danny and I, so I was expecting contact to be made soon enough. 

I was now defiantly in the Game of Thrones, but my thoughts were interrupted by the return of the two serving girls, actually salves because you know, Essos.... Though as this was lands claimed by Pentos and slavery was technically outlawed, they were called ‘bonded servants’ – a nice legal fiction that fooled nobody. 

This time there was some tittering as they cleared away my dishes and departed, leaving me with an uncomfortable dilemma. In the household staff there were several reasonably attractive young females from my memories that Viserys had considered......having. Thankfully he had done nothing yet, but the temptation was there. Not very Kingly behaviour and the inequality in power between me and my slaves, sorry ‘bonded servants’ was uncomfortable to say the least. At least they had it relatively easy, working in the villa was easier than working in the fields I supposed, though with the chance of rape for both the male and female staff, if their masters were so inclined. 

No, I was not going to debase myself, if needed it would be Lady Palm and her five beautiful daughters that would have to satisfy any urges I had. 

I cleared my mind of some increasingly heated fantasies and instead set my mind to planning, getting up and remembering where some paper and quills were I started planning and scribbling notes, dipping in and out of the CK2 Interface.

It was dark before I even realised it, Danny quietly trotting into my room to find me at the table, scribbling.

“What are you doing brother?” she asks, moving to stand beside me, tiny in the semi darkness, servants had come in to light a few candles as the dusk had descended.

“Just some ideas and planning” I replied, gathering up the papers and tidying them into a pile, I would lock them away later on.

“Would you join me for the evening meal?” she asked, stepping back from me as I stood up, towering over my tiny sister.

“Of course” I reply, moving to put away the papers.

“You should get dressed” Daenerys tittered, a pale hand covering her mouth in mirth.

I’d forgotten to dress, still having just a robe thrown over me.

Grinning I replied “I probably should alright, now shoo, and I’ll join you.”

Once Danny had left I rooted around and found some clothes to dress in, good quality clothing and practical for what looked to be a southern European climate.

As I made my way to the dining hall the interior of the villa was in darkness, lit by a few candles, it looked like what a Roman villa might, the walls covered in frescos of various rustic scenes. The dining room was large enough but the table was only set for Danny and I, again the food served was of a distinctly middle-eastern flavour, not that I cared, I loved middle eastern food.

Danny said little during the meal, bit I could tell she wanted to talk, so afterwards I led her out of the dining room to sit on a terrace that overlooked an enclosed garden that was at the heart of the Villa. 

She sat on one of wicker chairs and I sat across from her, the night sky above ablaze with millions of stars, it was still very warm out, so we could sit comfortably.

“Danny?” I asked, after the girl showed no sign of talking.

“Yes brother?” she replied, her voice wavering.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning forwards slightly, seeking out her eyes in the semi darkness.

“You, you have changed Viserys” Daenerys whispered, her voice trembling, unsure.

“For the better I hope?” I asked, pitching my voice low and reasonable sounding, the girl was obviously terrified of me.

“Yes” she whispered, her body tensing as if expecting me to react badly.

“Good, I, I was not a good brother to you Daenerys Stormborn, and for that I am sorry.”

“Brother....I know, I know it was hard for you, selling mothers crown......it, it cannot have been easy for you, to hear men call you the ‘beggar king’...”

“Still, there was no excuse for the way I treated you, we are the last dragons after all” no sense in mentioning ‘I dun wanna it’ at this stage. I was not sure as to what to do about Jon Snow, who had the better claim to the Iron Throne than either Danny or I. Not that I could do much about him as I was currently stuck in the bucolic arse end of Pentos and he was in Winterfell waiting to join the Nights Watch.

It was May 297 according to the CK2 interface, though I did not know they used the Julian calendar on Planetos? So right at the beginning of canon for ASOIAF/GOT and thus technically easier to knock from its trajectory, or so you would think.

The silence between us deepened, Daenerys was dressed in a light purple coloured silk dress, and she looked quite this (https://www.reddit.com/r/freefolk/comments/7by19r/how_13_years_old_daenerys_looked_when_she_was/) and it almost broke my heart looking at her, so tiny and vulnerable, and what she had went through. If there was one thing I was certain of, Daenerys would not suffer what she had suffered in canon, and if that meant no dragons, well fuck it. Though I did have certain plans in that regard, which might be wishful thinking but I would at least have to try them. Dragons would make a huge difference if it came to retaking Westeros and also with the Ice Apocalypse, and bollocks to Dan & Dave and their butchering of GOT.

“Brother......Viserys.....where, where has the coin come from for, for...all this?” asked Danny, bringing her huge, fear filled eyes up to meet mine.

“Are you worried that we are now in someone’s debt sister?”

“Yes, and, and what the payment of that debt will be.....”

“Worry not, I, I discovered a secret stash of wealth set aside by our family over the years, we are not in debt to anyone Daenerys, of that I promise you.”

A brief smile lit her face, before she turned serious again “What will become of use brother, what are we to do?”

“Indeed, what are we to do? We could spend our lives here; we now have enough coin to live out a comfortable life in Essos. But we would never know true peace, true safety; we remain and always will be a threat to the Usurper on the Iron Throne, he cannot let us live. The only path to safety for us is to retake the Iron Throne, even though it is fraught with danger. Our father was mad Daenerys, I know you did not like it when I told you the truth, but he was, and he was a dreadful King. The rebellion happened because he and our brother were touched with the madness that curses our blood on occasion. And there will be many in Westeros who would not welcome a restoration of the Targaryen name to the Iron Throne, but we have no choice, possession of the Iron Throne is our only way to survive Danny, to live.”

“It is our right brother, it is also our right!” she said, some passion coming into her voice.

“Our mad father and equally mad brother threw away that right Danny, House Targaryen has been bleeding strength since the Dance of the Dragons, by the end we were little more than puppets of the Lords Paramount. If we are to conquer Westeros we will have to remake it into an image that better suits our rule, a task likely to be fiercely resisted by the Lords of Westeros. If we had dragons still......”

I left this hanging in the air, I have plans to reintroduce these magical beasts but they are not guaranteed to work, the CK2 Interface and Command Console are not very helpful on this matter unfortunately. So a slightly bastardised version of how they were actually born will be needed, with the BLOOD OF THE DRAGON Trait, which I have, conferring Immunity to fire on my good self. Danny is still a child so as per CK2 she has Traits associated with someone under 16, in this case AFFECTIONATE, PLAYFUL, CONSCIENTIOUS and CURIOUS. I’ve of course upped her stats to 25 across the board, but I have to wait until she hits sixteen before I can really start to give her the advantages of this pseudo Game World that I find myself in.

Robert Baratheon for example has some impressive stats, but they are ruined by INDULGENT WASTREL, DEPRESSED, DRUNKARD, STRESSED, FAT, LUSTFUL and GLUTTONOUS. He has among the highest Martial Stats I’ve ever seen, but I still top him be a good margin. Joffrey has the Traits IMBECILE and INBRED, while neither of his siblings have these Traits. 

I do wonder what all these stats actually mean in reality, how do they impact on day to day interactions with other people, how to they impact the greater events of this world, I’ve read through the explanations and while some make immediate sense, others do not. Some of the Leadership Traits and the bonuses they bring don’t seem to make much sense in a real world type situation, but I suppose I’ll have to wait and see.  
“And, and what of us Viserys?” Danny asked, again casting her eyes downwards and refusing to meet my gaze.

“What of us sweet sister?” I asked, suddenly very uncomfortable as I realised just where this conversation was going.

“Will, will we.....will we wed?” the words said in an almost whisper.

“We have no Army, no Lords willing to openly back us; both of us will likely need to make political marriages to secure allies in Westeros. Were we to marry each other we would be throwing away the possibility of alliances, something which we cannot afford. It is a harsh thing to know that you will never marry for love, but that is the choice facing us sister.” 

There, laid it on the table, I’m decidedly uncomfortable with the thoughts of marrying Danny, not just because well she’s a fucking child for god’s sake, but also because she’s my fucking sister! Maybe Jon Snow and her might get it on later, but there was no way she was being sold to Khal Drogo, not a fucking chance!

Given all we had experienced it was no wonder that Viserys was a bit of a shit in canon, but anyway that particular Viserys was now long gone, and in its place was my good self. 

“But enough of this maudlin talk sweet sister, are you not happy in this new home I have provided for us? Is it not better than travelling from city to city, begging for the charity of men who cared not for us at all?”

“Yes brother, it is” replied Daenerys, her voice soft and rather unconvinced sounding to my mind.

“And yet?” I ask, an edge creeping in to my voice that I cannot help.

“You, you are very different Viserys, ever, ever since you, you started to train and, and to grow.....”

Ah yes, the fact that I was no longer a weedy, whiney Princeling, but my new strapping form who was not an utter shit 24/7. Bizarrely this seemed to be frightening Daenerys, or maybe the fact that to her mind I nearly died a few days ago?

“I am, different I mean, maybe I finally grew up, maybe I finally knew what needed to be done, and maybe that is why I have....grown, maybe, maybe the Gods of Old Valyria have seen me and approved of me, bestowing their blessings on me.”

A little heavy handed I know but how to explain that all this looked like some vast simulation or game to me, and one which I had access to ‘cheats’ in? Better to play the magic/Blessings of the Gods angle. Actually, maybe it was time to get little sister here onboard with the whole ‘magic’ thing.

“I have something to show you Daenerys, but you must promise me to tell no one, do you understand?”

“Yes brother” came her reply, as I held out my hand for her to take it.

I led her upstairs to my bedroom and once inside I opened up the CK2 interface and went to Artefacts, selecting two items, Dark Sister and The Conquerors Crown.

Both items appeared in my hands, Danny’s mouth opening in shock, a gasp of surprise escaping her lips.

“Dark Sister and the crown of Aegon the Conqueror little sisters, both are returned to me as a sign of the Gods favour. Now do you believe that I have been touched by the grace of the Gods themselves Daenerys?”

“I, I do your Grace” Daenerys whispers in an awed voice, before she dropped to one knee before me.

“My, my King” she breathed, her head bowed.

“Rise sister mine, rise Princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Are you with me? Will you be by my side as we retake Westeros?”

“Yes my King.”


	2. Chaper 2

Varys I

If there was one thing that Varys was certain of, it was that things could change at the most inopportune of times, and that the only way to stay ahead of the game was to move as quickly as possible when change occurred.

In a mere year things had changed beyond all recognition for him and Illyrio, all their carefully laid plans upset, nay, destroyed by what appeared to be on the face of it unconnected events, but which Varys could not help but feel were someway linked.

First there had been the sudden disappearance of the Targaryen brother and sister and their subsequent reappearance ensconced in a palatial fortified villa on the western edge of the territory claimed by Pentos. 

Where the coin for this move had come from Varys and Illyrio had yet to discover, despite the most diligent of searching by both of them. Indeed he had come to suspect Lord Petyr Baelish’s involvement in this sudden turn of events, but after careful investigations he could uncover no evidence of the involvement of the Master of Coin. But absence of evidence was not evidence of absence as they say, and he still kept a wary eye on Baelish, as he always did. The grasping Master of Coin was playing a dangerous game, intent apparently on bankrupting the realm and enriching himself in the process. The inevitable financial disaster that was approaching was not something he had initially had any inclination to either halt or interfere with, after all the chaos that Baelish hoped to use to elevate himself was just as good at serving his ends and goals, was it not?

And he still declined to either reveal or thwart the nefarious schemes of Littlefinger, for now he let Littlefinger play his little game with his coins and his shady deals.

Their plans for the Targaryen pair had been for them to be removed from the Game of Thrones by the expediency of exploiting the Prince’s known desperation and lack of wit. The girl was to be married off to a Dothraki Horse Lord on the promise that the same Horse Lord would become the core of Visery’s army for the re-conquest of Westeros. Illyrio was confident that the ‘Beggar Prince’ would swallow their promise, but then as plans had been put in place the two last Targaryen’s had disappeared.

Oh they had been tracked down soon enough, and Mopatis had been keen to immediately seek them out and continue as if nothing had happened. But he had cautioned against it, at least until they had found out where the sudden influx of coin in to the Prince’s hands had come from. 

Annoyingly he had been unable to insert any of his little birds into the Targaryen’s new residence, a most distressing state of affairs, and he had to rely on untrustworthy source of information on what was going on there.

From what he had been able to glean the Prince had taken to sparring and training like a fish to water and spent the rest of his time reading and studying. A surprising development but nothing overly untoward to his mind, the young man was probably making up for lost time. 

But had their plan not been interrupted the two last Targaryen’s would now be on their way into the heart of the Great Grass Sea, and out of the Game of Thrones forever. Daenerys would spend her life as the wife of a Khal, birthing his children and probably dying young as a result. Viserys, stupid boy that he was probably did not know that the Dothraki refused to cross any water that their Horses could not drink. So he would have just sold his sister for nothing, and by the time he realised his mistake it would already be too late. Based on his reports of the prince he was short tempered and hot headed, and could probably be relied upon to get himself killed when surrounded by the Horse Savages of the Dothraki. 

Either way, the ‘army’ Viserys had been conned into would never set foot in Westeros, and his sister was lost to him as a bargaining piece in the Great Game. And so it would all fall to Aegon Targaryen, or Mopatis’s Blackfyre son, to save Westeros. Ah, the delicious irony of it, a Blackfyre taking the Targaryen name and their throne, so befitting it would have all been.

But then the second piece of unsettling news from Essos, of the deaths of Old Griff and Young Griff. According to Haldon both had died in their sleep, and he could detect no evidence of poison. But for both of them to die on the same night, and in the same apparent manner? No, Varys could not accept that, there was someone else behind these two deaths, some other player of the Game of Thrones, but that would mean that whoever this mysterious new person was, that they knew of his and Illyrio’s plans. And that in and of itself terrified Varys, because the price of that information was incalculable, for it could destroy him and Illyrio utterly.

And yet, after the deaths of the two nothing else had happened, no other sudden moves revealed themselves, well not from the mystery player. The death of Jon Arryn was wholly the work of Baelish with the help of Lysa Arryn, no doubt convinced by Baelish’s honeyed words to murder her Lord husband. 

The Lannister twins were given a temporary reprieve by Jon Arryn’s death, the noose that had been tightening around their incestuous relationship and their bastard children had been lifted by the trip to Winterfell. 

The noose would of course descend again once they were back from their Northern jaunt, with the honourable Ned Stark in tow as the new Hand of the King. And no doubt Baelish will stir the pot vigorously once the King had returned. 

Probably more than vigorously, Baelish had a hatred towards House Stark that he kept well hidden, but which surfaced often enough for Varys to glimpse it. Ned Stark would be a perfect foil for the plots around the parentage of the Royal children and the eventual reveal of their true nature.   
The chaos and war that would erupt would no doubt split the realm, and the bungling antics of Lord’s Renly and Loras to position Margaery Tyrell as a replacement Queen once Cersei’s infidelity was finally and inevitably revealed were sure to further complicate matters.

Ah, the joys of the Great Game and the foibles of the players eh?

Speaking of which, Illyrio hd finally decided to make a move towards gaining the trust of the two Targaryen’s, and that reminded him, he had to meet Illyrio tonight, the magister having sailed across the Narrow Sea to meet him in person. No doubt to discuss his meeting with the Prince and Princess, and Varys wondered what would be their plans now that Aegon was no longer available. Surely Illyrio was not thinking of actually supporting the last of the Red Dragons? 

As was their wont they met in secret in the tunnels underneath the Red Keep, sure that none would see or overhear them. As old fiends and conspirators they needed no pleasantries to begin with, rather they got straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well, what of the boy?” asked Varys, keen to get to the heart of the matter.

“He is no boy anymore old friend, he is a man grown, and a man grown tall and strong, a warrior if ever I saw one....”

“That is...unfortunate, but his wits? His temperament, what of it? Is he still a naive fool, easily led and swayed?”

“The opposite, he has eyes that miss nothing and he did not fall for any of my promises or blandishments Varys, he is wary, very, very wary. He commits to nothing, keeps his council close and never lets anything slip that one could use against him.”

“That is so disappointing, I fear that the two remaining offspring of the mad King will have to suffer an unfortunate end” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice, all their plans, all the years of work, all for nothing in the end. He was finished with all this, he was going to disappear quietly and leave Westeros and its Game of Thrones and retire, Lys sounded like it would make a lovely place to spend his last years.

“Maybe, maybe not old friend, there is still advantage for us to be gained, I have sunk significant coin into this enterprise, despite, despite the death of my son, I am loathe to abandon my investment. The lad may have gained some common sense but I know he wants that monstrosity of dragonfire melted swords that is above us. I could see it in his eyes, should we assist him, there would be much to gain my old friend.”

“I, I may have less invested in this enterprise of ours, but I caution you, we would be putting aside our long cherished dream to see the dragons replaced by our blood, even though none would know apart from ourselves.”

“That dream is dead, it died with Aegon” replied Illyrio, his voice hard but slightly cracked with emotion. “I have found nothing else out about their deaths, whomever it was has covered their tracks completely.”

“And this worries men, there is a new player in the game and we know not who they are or what they want. And we propose to proceed with different pieces upon the board, thinking to attain a similar outcome? No my friend, we must be more cautious than that, much more cautious....”

“No, we know what this new player wants Varys, it is the same as every other player, power.”

Varys inclined his head in agreement, the Magister’s beliefs were true as far as they went, but it was always more than just power, the motivations behind a players actions were often more important than the action itself. For they could give one an insight into the mind of the player, and thus help one in predicting how the player would react to any move by an opponent, or even one by an ally.

“We cannot do nothing Varys, we know that Westeros is only a spark away from a wildfire explosion, there is a war coming, we both know that. Too many contrary forces are at play, too much power is concentrated here, fought over by squabbling Houses, and there are secrets that will tear this realm apart sooner rather than later. And speaking of which, Viserys Targaryen is aware of Queen Cersei’s actions and the consequences of those actions......”

“How?” was all Varys could say, his mind whirling at this reveal.

“He refused to say, only to comment that Baelish would lead Lord Stark around by the nose until he uncovered the truth of the children’s parentage, and that this would be the spark that would light Westeros from end to end in the flames of war.”

“Well, Baelish is certainly one who would relish such chaos.”

“Oh and the Prince also said that his father Aerys stockpiled Wildfire underneath Kings Landing, and that it is still in place all over this stinking city, getting more dangerous with every passing year to an accidental explosion.”

“I, I have not heard rumours of this, and I’m sure if it were true my Little Birds would have found evidence of the substance by now?”

“He said that there are large caches under the Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor, the Dragon Pit and Fleabottom. Beyond that he gave no further details, only to say that he overheard this as a child in the Red Keep during the last days of the rebellion.” 

Varys shivered at the thoughts of wildfire beneath their very feet, he would have to validate this as soon as was possible. To get his mind off this terrifying thought he changed the subject “the Princess, what of her?”

“A delectable young thing, will be a beauty in a few years time, given the fact that her teats are budding I would say she has flowered.”

“Did you discuss....?”

“I did broach the subject of potential alliances, our southern friends were mentioned, either one of them though not directly.”

“And? Don’t be coy Illyrio, it does not suite you.”

“The Prince was remarkably cool on the issue of any betrothals for either him or his sister; he said he wanted firmer commitments and direct communications with the parties involved, and not through any intermediary.”

“Well, that does show a modicum of common sense at least” replied Varys, before Illyrio interjected.

“Prince Viserys seems to be remarkable well informed of events in Westeros, and he did mention our Dornish friends directly, both the Prince and the Princess, and he made mention of a certain Rose also. Along with the affairs of a Stag and an other Rose entwined....”

“Did he indeed?” asked Varys, now this was interesting, and terrifying at the same time. Was this new player the Prince himself? For was not his new manse not much closer to the Upper Rhoyne, where a certain pretender Prince and his guardian were slain? Varys was truly shocked as his mind spun out the implications of all this, a man barely grown playing the Game of Thrones like this. His old friend did not seem to have had a similar insight to him, so best to keep this to his own confidence for now.

Rather than let the silence build between them Varys asked an innocuous question of the Magister “Do you get a sense that maybe he is intent on keeping his sister to be his own wife?”

“I do not get that sense form him, he is protective of Princess Daenerys, but not in a manner that would suggest he wants to wed and bed her.”

“Hrmmm, we may be able to use this in that case, both the Dornish and the Reach have no love for the current incumbent upon the Iron Throne, but even their combined strength would not be enough. We needs must wait until the inevitable strife you so accurately predict will occur.” 

“We could help it along....” quipped Illyrio, smiling at him, his eyes lit by in the gloom with mirth.

“We could, and we will, but we must let things develop initially at their own pace. Anything else I should be aware of?”

“I had Haldon, Ser Rolly Duckfield and Septa Lemore join me and I introduced them to Prince Viserys. He seemed pleased to meet them and to gain their services....”

“You did what?” Varys asked, shocked at his old friends actions “why?” he asked, after his ire had cooled.

“The same reason why they accompanied Aegon” Illyrio replied on a slightly thickened voice “to teach him of the land he barely knows, the Septa can gain the confidence of the Princess, and of course to spy upon him. We might even find out who his mystery backer is while we are at it.”

After a few seconds of pondering this Varys replied “very well, it makes some sense, though I assume they are under orders to say nothing of their previous employment?”

Illyrio raised an ironic eyebrow at the question, before Varys continued “In that case, tell me of the rest of the goings on I should need to know about then.” 

Illyrio filled him in on the latest developments in Essos, in particular the political developments in Pentos. Left unsaid was their plans for the Golden Company, once a cornerstone of what they had planned this company of Westerosi exiles might yet play a pivotal part in the wars to come. 

Once he had wrung everything he needed from Illyrio they discussed their next moves further, some differences of opinions were evident between what they wanted to do, but in the end a rough agreement had been trashed out.

But Varys knew his fat friend very well, and he knew there were some things that the Magister was not telling him, in particular about the two Targaryens. It rankled him a little bit but he was sure that he would soon find out, either from his own sources or from the Magister himself, when Illyrio felt good and ready to tell him. 

So it was that three moons later Varys found himself in the Small Council meeting with tales to tell of the Dragons in Essos.

Of course Robert Baratheon deigned to attend, it was the only subject that exercised the fat King to cease his wenching and drinking and grace them with his not inconsiderable presence.

“Well Spider, out with it!” he bellowed at him once the session had been called to order.

Present along with the King was his grim looking Hand, Pycelle, Littlefinger and Lord Renly, Lord Stannis having decamped to Dragonstone and who was ignoring all summons to return to the capital. Varys knew it was because Stannis feared for his life, assuming that the Lannister’s had poisoned Jon Arryn due to the investigations by the former Hand and Lord Stannis into the parentage of Robert’s supposed children with Queen Cersei. He was of no opinion to enlighten Lord Stannis as to the truth of Lord Arryn’s death, nor anyone else for that matter, as it suited his purposes for the moment that Lord Stannis suspect the Lannister’s in the death of Jon Arryn.

“The two Targaryen’s have been located your Grace, they reside in rather substantial villa located in the plains just east of the foothills of the Velvet Hills.”

“And?” Robert asked, his eye’s pig like in his bloated, red hued face.

“The villa is well fortified as expected for the hinterlands of Pentos subject to Dothraki raiding, and a substantial guard is present at the villa. Prince Viserys continues to do well at his martial training, he has been joined by a former Knight from the Golden Company, one Ser Rolly Duckfield. The identity of the sword trainer he had with him originally has been confirmed as Syrio Florell, former First Sword of Braavos and a noted exponent of the Water dancing style of fighting.”

“Water Dancing?” guffawed Robert Baratheon “that’s not real fighting, that’s fighting for sword swallowers!” he roared, laughing at his own rather poor joke, Varys noticing the slight tightening of the skin around the mouth and eyes of Lord Renly. 

“So the Dragon is learning to fight, fat lot of good it will do him in the end, now that we know where he is, you know what you have to do Varys, both of them” rumbled the King in a menacing growl.

“But the girl, she is only three and ten Robert, spare her at least?” asked Ned Stark, his face a rigid mask but his eyes betraying his concern.

“She will bleed and then she will breed Ned, and another generation of dragonspawn will haunt us and our sons. No, both of them Varys, no mercy!” Robert thundered, his meaty fist slapping the table for emphasis.

“Robert, she’s a child!” pleaded Lord Stark “you cannot do this...”

“Cannot Ned? Speak carefully now, you dare talk to your King about ‘cannot’?” growled the fat stag, his face twisted with anger. 

“I’ll not be party to the killing of an innocent child Robert, I won’t!” replied Lord Stark, his face set and hard like it was carved from the very stone of the earth.

“If I may your Grace?” Varys interrupted “but if you recall the pardon you singed for me six moons ago?”

This distracted the staring match between the two men, from the look on the stag’s face it was obvious that Robert had no idea what Varys was talking about, but he grunted “Yes Varys, what of it?”

“Well the individual in question has made contact with the Targaryen’s and has been accepted into their service, we now have an agent in their camp.”

Varys noted the rather sour look on Ned Stark’s face at this, he would like what he had to say next ever less. “Ser Jorah has had no trouble in convincing Prince Viserys of his commitment to the cause of the Dragons, and he has ingratiated himself with the Princess also.”

“Jorah Mormont?” thundered Lord Stark. “That slave trading coward who fled my justice to Essos? He, he is your agent? And you’ve given this oathbreaker a pardon Robert?”

“If he gives me the heads of the last two Dragons aye, he’ll get a pardon Ned!”

“That man deserves death at my blade, nothing more, nothing less, he is an honourless cur! If he sets foot in Westeros I’ll end him myself!”

“You will not Ned, mind that northern temper of your now! Varys, see to it. I want them both dead as soon as possible, Viserys and his little sister. I’ve had enough now for one day of the lot of you!”

With that Robert stood up and strode out of the Small Council room, leaving Ned Stark to fume silently, while the rest of the Small Council took their leave of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our SI's POV

Viserys II

“Yield, I yield” gasped Ser Jorah Mormont, my training blade poised at his throat, as the Bear Islander lay sprawled in the dirt.

I step back two paces and bring my sword back up to a level guard, beckoning with my other hand for Ser Friendzone to get back up and continue. 

The Peadobear struggles back up and regains his fighting stance, and we have at it again, for the umpteenth time this morning. The sun is just poking its rim above the walls of the compound that I use for training, a courtyard in the main Villa complex. I’ve built benches and other weight training type equipment, which fills part of the covered veranda that lines all four sides of the courtyard, the courtyard itself is surfaced in hard packed dirt.

train here every morning, weapons work and weights, with cardio also thrown in, and I train three afternoons also, fanatically pushing myself and my body to its limits. The CK2 interface does not give me direct control over things such as strength, agility and speed, but the combination of very high MARTIAL skill and several Traits adding up to my frankly excessive Personal Combat Skill level make me a natural at fighting. But I have to train and train and train because I can become rusty and my physique requires honing or it too will lose its edge. 

It’s a pain at first I will have to admit, but the endorphins rush becomes addictive very quickly, plus apart from reading there is little else to occupy my time, so I might as well train. 

Syrio Florell had apparently been picked up in Pentos before we had moved here; he retained his nonchalant and offhand manner, which I liked if I was honest. And I’d been busy editing his Stats and Traits, making the former First Sword of Braavos an even more formidable swords man than he was before. 

Interestingly he had confronted me about this, saying that he knew it was my ‘dragon magic’ making him better, but that he would allow me this, I had laughed at this but when it was clear that he was serious I’d left it at that. The man had become something of a friend and advisor also; his knowledge of Essos in general and Braavos in particular was a valuable resource for me. 

Soon I would be leaving to take a trip to Braavos and the Iron Bank, there to deposit a few million Gold Dragons into my account, which already contained half a million Gold Dragons. Being able to magic gold out of thin air had its advantages, but I would still have to be careful, no sense in causing runaway inflation while I was at it now was there?

Jorah’s blade arced towards me, my blade coming up to meet it, as we resumed sparring, something which I insisted on every morning. Jorah had not received any upgrades courtesy of myself, and I beat the disgraced Knight into the dirt every time we sparred. Petty I know but I wanted to make a point with Jorah first before I let him know that I knew all about him and his pardon from Robert Baratheon.

I wanted an unvarnished report to be sent back to the Spider, and maybe even to Robert Baratheon, and damm the consequences. Yes this was probably stupid and foolish, but I did not care, canon was crap, the end of the world was on the horizon and I was sick of waiting. I had these unfair advantages, and I wanted to use them, not only for myself but for the benefit of others, this may have been one vast computer simulation but I had come to care about its occupants, even if I could never be sure if they were actually real or not. I know that’s close to sophistry but it was the best I could do in this situation.

But not Jorah, or at least not for now until he proved himself to be less of a paedo cunt and to be loyal to me and me alone. He had a history of perving on young girls, his first wife was much younger than him and Danny was still a child. Plus he was a spy, technically Robert’s but he was a creature of the Spider in truth. Maybe I should have killed him on immediate acquaintance, but I had not, he looked like that actor who played him in the show and frankly the sight of another ‘familiar face’ as it were stayed my hand. Syrio looked like that bloke that played him in the show, complete with ridiculous accent. 

Jorah has ended up in the dirt again, his blade hooked away by my strength and speed, his face wearing its usual annoyed look.

“Enough for now I think, the Bear still moves like he is wearing his armour, all stiff and slow” comments Syrio Florell, his face creased with its usual smile.

We are wearing training gambesons to prevent serious injuries, but other than that we are not wearing armour, but Florell’s comment is valid enough. Nigh on a year of training with Florell and I’m faster and more fluid than any opponent, only Florell with his upgrades can stay with me, in fact I deliberately added to Florell’s abilities specifically so that he can give me a decent challenge.

Another ‘upgraded’ knight is Ser Rolly Duckfield, the Cheesemonger having swiftly transferred his ‘training crew’ from the sadly deceased fake Aegon to me. I wondered at this, Illyrio seeming to have taken the death of his son rather too well. A quick examination of his motives and the plots he was involved in showed that he had transferred his ambitions to me and was still hoping to be made my Master of Coin.

Not happening in a million years, especially as I knew of the original plot he and Varys were involved in regarding Danny and I. Varys I could probably live with as Master of Whispers, though with my abilities and with the PLOTS_KNOWN command active I could have technically dispended with the Spider’s services. I could probably shorten both men by a head if I needed to, but for now it suited my purposes to keep them in play, but under close observation. 

The ‘half Maester’ Haldon and Septa Lemore had also arrived with the Cheesemonger, explained as a gift to me to assist me in preparing for my eventual and inevitable return to Westeros to claim my birthright. 

The meeting with the Cheesemonger had been an interesting affair, he was all full of bluster and oily praise, at least at first, he soon dropped this pretence when it was clear that I was neither impressed nor was I buying his ridiculous claims of the Smallfolk sewing Targaryen banners in secret, hoping for my return.

I had stolen a line from the series to reply to the Cheesemonger “all the smallfolk care for is a summer that does not end, enough rain for their crops and peace”. Paraphrasing slightly but enough to stop Illyrio in full flight as he waxed lyrical about how loved I was in Westeros. 

I got the distinct feeling that the Cheesemonger was assessing me on behalf of Varys also, but I knew that he had decided to hitch his wagon to my star, cutting his losses and the sunk cost into fake Aegon and moving forwards. How very practical and logical of him, not to mention heartless even, he might react differently if he knew I had dispatched his son via magical bullshit means?

But then again maybe not, Illyrio was greedy and grasping and he thought that I was his ticket to even greater riches and power. But I was not going to replace Littlefinger with an even bigger swindler and crook, for Illyrio expected to be able to gouge the Seven Kingdoms mercilessly when he was made Master of Coin. 

I’d dropped some hints about what meta knowledge I had, but not too much, no sense in scaring off either Illyrio or Varys just yet, they expected after all to be able to manipulate me. But I showed some shrewdness and savvy of how the Great Game was played, refusing to be drawn on marriage alliances without the direct involvement of the parties themselves. Which meant Dorne first and foremost, with The Reach a slightly distant second in line, a part of me relishing the chance to meet the Queen of Thorns; I must be a glutton for punishment.... 

I had probably doomed myself to a visit from Prince Oberyn with Princess Arianne in tow with a definitive rush to perform the Westerosi equivalent of a ‘shotgun wedding’, though maybe not, Doran Martell was nothing if not an excruciatingly patient player of the Long Game. Oh, I just remembered, if this is book canon then I’m already betrothed to Arianne of House Martel, huh. Now I like dusky chicks, so maybe this won’t be too bad, but from what little I know of her she is apparently a bit of a wild card. Anyway something to check out in CK2 later on and see what’s what. 

But why limit myself to one wife eh? Aegon the Conqueror had two sister wives, why not a harem of the finest female flesh that Westeros had to offer? Because the Faith would spontaneously combust in horror and call a crusade against me? Because every High Lord with dreams of influence over the King through marriage would realise that their dreams would be ashes if I did this? Because I’d just set up a secession crisis when I died?  
On that note I’d given myself the Trait Immortal and would adjust my age every year so that I did not in fact age at all, couple that with ridiculously high Health stats and I had no plans on dying ever. Which meant that one of the traditional advantages ambitious fathers had for marrying their daughters to the King, the fact that your blood would sit on the Iron Throne, was a moot point.

Not that I was going to advertise the fact that I was not leaving the party ever, but still, it made having a harem of High Born Beauties less contentious, at least to my line of thinking. 

Anyway I was just fantasising right now, but it certainly tickled my fancy the thoughts of having Arianne Martel, Margaery Tyrell, Sansa Stark and Roslin Frey all in my bed, the Console Command ADD_LOVER and ADD_FRIEND would take care of any initial unpleasantness, of that I was sure. Maybe even add Myrcella Baratheon to the list, fuck it, I might even throw in Cersei just for the fun of it! 

A dark corner of my mind whispered that I should add Danny to this list, but I squashed that feeling, nope, not going there.

‘Yet’ whispered the traitorous voice in my head. 

I drag my mind back to the training yard, Syrio Florell is training with Ser Jorah Mormont, still beating him, but just not quite as fast as I like to humble the Bear Islander. 

I’ve lined up against Ser Rolly Duckfield, who is a decent enough opponent, but even upgrade he is no real match for me, but I like sparring against him, he tends to use unconventional moves and likes to wrestle and grapple.

It more closely approximates the actual chaos and desperation of a real battle and I like the challenge that it represents. He has even started training me on jousting, which I’m still a relative novice at, but I’m rapidly improving. 

After a few hours of sword training I call a halt and it’s time for us to break our fast, but not before we have a nice soak and clean in the very Roman style baths that the villa has. Given my, erh, size....I am certainly not shy about walking around naked with a bunch of other men, and it’s another way of reinforcing my, well differences from others. I’ve decided that playing the ‘Dragon Blood is special’ card for all its worth is a valid strategy, and getting Jorah and the former companions of fake Aegon to believe in this little white lie is important.

Ser Rolly is already fully onboard with this, he knows he is more skilled than before and puts it down to sparring with a warrior of my obvious talents. Haldon is awed by my intelligence and knowledge, and we have been concocting plans and schemes for that favourite of SI subjects, the uplifting of Westeros. Thus the reports going back to the Cheesemonger and the Spider should be uniformly positive and will hopefully swing them behind me fully. Using the ADD_FRIEND command for this pair is always an option, but I don’t want to do it just yet, I want to see what this devious pair are up to and what are the best ways to manipulate them.

Call it arrogance if you will, or maybe laziness, but anyway the last of my new companions, Septa Lemore I was playing a more subtle game with. She has slotted herself into the role of Daenerys’s personal Septa and teacher, seemingly without even asking, something I was a little miffed with but which I could live with. Especially as I had designs upon the fair Septa, she was very good looking for a woman of her age, and I’d started to slowly regress her age, adding the Trait ATTRACTIVE and GROOMED to her, while at the same time removing the Trait CHASTE. 

I made it my business to spend at least an hour every day with Daenerys and Septa Lemore, chatting with them and sometimes making sure that Danny was getting the right education from the Septa. No bullshit about a woman’s duty and all that, I had explained very early on the to the good Septa that I was a firm believer in Targaryen exceptionalism and that the laws of other Gods most definitely did not apply to me or my sister. I pushed hard the line about our survival, our trials in Essos and now how we are now coming into our strength, our destiny. Well me anyway, sometimes Danny and Septa Lemore come and watch us train, and I know the Septa is interested in a way that conflicts with her vows of chastity. But she is not struggling with this in the slightest; a quick dip into the CK2 Interface shows me that she is very, very attracted to me, so that eases my decision to add the Command ADD_LOVER to her profile, with me of course being the ‘object of desire’.

Funnily enough she does not jump my bones immediately after that, but her glances get definitely more heated, and there is a delicious sexual tension in our encounters. 

I break my fast with my household, Danny and Septa Lemore, Syrio, Haldon, Ser Rolly and Jorah Mormont. The fare is typically middle-eastern in style, something I greatly enjoy; and there is even decent coffee and tea available, oh heaven! 

After we eat I’m off for lessons with Haldon, Danny for lessons with the Septa, Danny also gets lessons with Haldon in the afternoon of every second day. I want my baby sister to be knowledgeable of Westeros and its peoples and customs, and for Haldon to tease forth the smart mind that lurks inside her child’s brain. I know some fans might disagree but Daenerys is not stupid, she is a very clever girl, she just needs the right training and environment to bring it forth. 

Jorah, Syrio and Ser Rolly alternate working with the small guard detachment that came with the Villa, either training with them or supervising their duties. Robert Baratheon will try again to clip me and Danny, of that I’m certain, but with the Spider probably in my camp now the how and what of that attempt remains to be seen. 

After lessons with the so called half Maester its lunch time, a dish of rice and spiced lamb, with flatbreads and salads to accompany it. Given the languid heat of the afternoon the Septa opts for a nap, as does Daenerys, while I’m off to practice jousting under the guidance of Ser Rolly. Just finding a horse large enough for me had been a chore in and of itself, and one that we had been unsuccessful so far, my destrier was a couple of hands too short for me. Also a few years too old and unfortunately the CK2 Interface and Command Console did not work on animals.

So I was making the best I could of it practicing my jousting, against static targets again and again and again, with Ser Rolly moving them around in height and position, varying my approach angles and speeds also. This was not traditional Tourney jousting practice as Ser Rolly explained, but rather a means of getting me as comfortable in the saddle with a lance for actual combat as quickly as possible. 

I spend the afternoon sweating under the sun clad in armour, not the spiffy Valyrian Steel set that was one of my Artefacts, but a perfectly serviceable plain steel set, its bath time again after we finish and then I can relax for a while. I read some texts prepared for me by Haldon, so not really relaxation, but they deal with certain economic aspects of the Seven Kingdoms and I’d studied economics when I was younger and I liked the subject.

The texts dealt with the ‘GDP’ of Westeros, which appeared to be around 30 million Gold Dragons, and the latest information on taxes remitted to the Iron Throne, which was completely out of date, being at least thirty years old.

But nevertheless it gave an indication of the various relative strengths of each of the Realms as reflected in the amount of tax they collected for their own use and which was remitted to the Iron Throne.

There was also some treatises on trade in general, both internal to Westeros and with Essos, even I could see that Westeros was haemorrhaging money to Essos, exporting raw materials and importing those same raw materials in the form of finished goods. Without the magical gold mines of the Westerlands Westeros would have been denuded of coin millennia ago, with all the calamitous effects that this would have on a pre fiat money economy. Equally telling was the fact that without this drain on gold and silver Westeros would have been drowning in coin and suffering from runaway inflation.

What was needed was a way to absorb coin in Westeros and keep it in productive circulation, a function best handled by a central Bank type institution. And fuck the Iron bank seven ways till Sunday, they were going to be dealt with as a first order of business, let them choke on the gold I can magic up and stay the fuck out of Westeros.

And transport, namely cheap transport was the key to economic development, lower transport costs and markets open up. The prime example of Wedgewood and his ceramics in England, whereby a product that could not be made in economic viable numbers became viable when canals allowed the raw materials and the finished goods to the transported in bulk cheaply, was the lesson I had learned well.

Westeros was crisscrossed with rivers, and not just in the Riverlands either, the nexus of the Crownlands, the Riverlands, parts of the Stormlands and the Reach were well supplied with river networks. And as in medieval times these were the real highways of commerce, now some river improvements and maybe even that perennial favourite of SI’s, canals would decrease transport costs significantly. 

According to Haldon there had been plans to run a canal from Seaguard to the Twins, but the every present threat of the Ironborn had scuppered that idea. The Ironborn, I mean why? Why the fuck were they still a thing? They needed to die in a fire at the earliest opportunity, and I had promised myself this very outcome, I would not be having these badly drawn Viking expys troubling me or my rule.

The Westerlands looked like they were well supplied with potential sources of water power, as did certain parts of the Vale, the North was out because of its weather, but maybe something could still be done. Dorne was also out on account of having very few rivers, but I had made plans for seawater greenhouses for Dorne, at least that would increase their food production. Glass was a priority and fuck Myr and their monopoly on decent glass, Westeros seemed to be well supplied with coal so good, strong and cheap glass was a certain possibility.

On that note viticulture was much more advanced on Planetos than at the equivalent time on earth, vintages were a thing and from drinking the stuff it was palatable, unlike what medieval wine often was on earth. Wine barrels were ‘cured’ by burning sulphur in them, special glazes were in use to line earthenware vessels that stored wine, and bottling wine with corks was a thing. So wine actually kept longer than a year before turning into undrinkable vinegar like piss, and though it was generally rougher than my modern palate was used to, it was not all that bad. 

Speaking of wines, fortified wines, sweet wines and ‘strong’ wines were a thing, though no sign of Brandy yet, though Cider and an analogue to Calvados was a thing. Brandy might be a handy way of making money for the crown, especially if it was by Royal Licence only, and yes, though I could create as much money as I wanted courtesy of the CK2 Command Console, as I had said, I was alive to the dangers of inflation by having too much money chase too few goods. 

The reason I mention these is that blending of wines is also practised, no doubt horrifying any wine snobs on earth if they heard of it, and for tonight’s meal I’ve mixed some ordinary wine with sweet and fortified wines. Fuck it, I like the taste and it will go well with the meal, marinated and grilled river fish of some sort, spiced rice, salad and some sort of herby, omelette thing. 

Again it’s the usual crew for dinner, as night falls outside we sit down to eat, I love the food here, deciding that I will get a local chef form here to prepare food for me when I’m back in Westeros and perched firmly atop the Iron Throne.

But for now thoughts of the conquest of Westeros are far from my mind, it’s quite a different conquest I’m interested in tonight. 

Dropping a decade off Septa Lemore’s age and adding ATTRACTIVE and GROOMED had turned her from a very good looking woman into a stunningly beautiful one. Who despite hiding her figure under a Septa’s robes was obviously delighted by the changes that had occurred to her body, and whose desire to use her body’s charms as intended was becoming apparent.

Well to me it was, the Septa was the soul of discretion and tact as always, but I knew, she was ripe for the plucking, and tonight was going to be her lucky night. And mine also, wanking off was so unsatisfactory, even with a cum load that would make Peter North’s greatest ejaculations look like a pathetic dribble. Apparently all my Traits and Attributes have combined, along with 100% fertility to give me gigantic cum shots, probably in the six plus fluid ounces range, and refectory period, what refectory period I! 

I was wearing the Dragonstone Ring, an Artefact that I had given myself; it gave a +1 Bonus to Intrigue, but a 25 Bonus to Sex Appeal and a whopping 75 Bonus to Attractiveness, handy that. 

The meal wears on, conversation flows, the wine is strong and the men get more than a little drunk, but not rowdy, I won’t allow that. Danny is tipsy by the time that Septa Lemore decides it’s time for Danny to go to bed. They leave and a few moments I take my leave also, Syrio, Jorah, Rolly and Haldon deciding to remain and drink some more.

As I make my way to my room I see Septa Lemore making her way towards me, I open the door to my room and let her in, neither of us saying anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Daenerys I

“Are you unwell Septa Lemore?” Daenerys asks, noticing not for the first time her Septa wince slightly at some pain.

“No your Grace, I slept badly last night, I am not as rested as I would normally be” the Septa replied evenly, though Danny did not believe her.

was something wrong with her Septa this morning, like it had been for the past few mornings, the woman seemed distracted and often moved gingerly, as if in pain, especially when she went to sit down or stand up. The Septa’s voice was also slightly hoarse every morning, and Daenerys hoped that the woman was not coming down with some affliction or other. The Septa was something of a friend for her, being the only other female that Danny felt she could talk to; the servants were too shy and wary of her for her to really talk to honestly.

The Septa was not what she had expected of a devote of the Faith of the Seven either, she was not overly pushy about her faith, and seemed more interested in teaching Danny about the Seven Kingdoms, their peoples and about the roles and duties of a Princess.

Danny had never had such guidance or instruction before and a part of her relished it, soaking up knowledge like a sponge, and the same was true for her lessons with Haldon. If she was honest with herself she preferred the lessons with the so called half Maester, finding the subjects he taught her to be more interesting.

This morning her and her Septa were sewing, Danny had never sewn before bit apparently she was quite talented at it, according to the Septa, and Danny was sure that it was not faint or false praise either. The red dragon she was embroidering looked good to her eyes, maybe she would even embroider these onto Viserys’s clothes, she was sure he would let her.

A tiny smile creased her mouth at the thoughts of her brother, grown tall, strong and handsome, and yet with a kind heart, and so contrite for his earlier poor treatment of her. He would make a good King she knew, once they retook the Iron Throne, though she did quail at the thoughts of returning to Westeros. It would mean giving up all this, all this that she had come to relish in the past few moons, a safe and comfortable place to live, a brother who spent time with her and who doted on her, nice clothes and food, and something of a companion in Septa Lemore.

No more did they have to depend on the dubious charity of others, on men who only saw them as a curiosity or as pawns in their own games. Like that fat magister from Pentos who had arrived with Septa Lomore, Haldon and Ser Rolly, she had not trusted the man and had taken an instant dislike to him. Nor had she liked the way his eyes had lingered on her in a manner that made her feel sick in her stomach, the stench of his body odour, masked by perfumes and oils threatening to make her gullet spasm and retch.

She had voiced her concerns to Viserys the next day in private, and her brother had spoken seriously to her of what the fat Magister was to them, the threat and the opportunity he represented. He told her that the man had originally planned to offer him a Dothraki army in return for her marrying a Horse Lord. She had near fainted at the horror of this, until Viserys had assured her that this would never happen, and that the Magister must have thought him simple minded to give away his sister for a so called army that would never cross the Narrow Sea.

Her anger at the fat and presumptuous Magister had simmered long and hot after that, and she was glad to see the back of him when he finally left their villa. Though without him she would not have the company of Septa Lemore, she had to grant him that. Which did beg the question if Septa Lemore and her companions were spies for this Illyrio Mopatis. Her brother had chuckled softly when she had asked him this very question, replying “of course they are spies sister mine, but do not fret, their masters desires accord with ours for now, but we should be careful nonetheless.”  
So she had heeded her brothers advice and restricted her conversations with the Septa to what she deemed to be ‘safe’ topics. She certainly did not discuss her feelings for her brother with the woman, who despite her Septa’s garb seemed to be more interested in the mundane as opposed to the spiritual. She was also very beautiful to Danny’s eyes, having grown even more lovely since she had arrived, her face well shaped and proportioned, her body womanly under her robes. The Septa had often questioned her about her brother at first, but Danny had stuck to her brothers warnings and revealed little, or as little as she thought she could get away with without being rude.

Daenerys had long believed that she would have to marry Viserys, and as the years had progressed she had come to dread the thoughts of being married to her brother. His rages, his petty cruelties, his mood swings were terrifying to her, and she had longed to escape from them. But there was nowhere for her to go, nobody to trust outside of the dubious protection offered by her brother.

And then all that had changed nigh on a year ago, they had arrived in Pentos, Viserys his usual cruel and stupid self, but then one morning he had awoken her and told her they were leaving. This in and of its self was not unusual, but the Viserys who she had accompanied out of Pentos and into the rolling hills and plains to the west of the Free City seemed to be scare like her brother at all.

Quiet, pensive even, barely even talking to her, but never angry or cruel to her, instead he seemed detached, almost as if he was dream walking, barely noticing her or his surroundings.

They had departed with a bunch of hired guards and an over the top Braavosi sword master, one Syrio Florell. Viserys had spent most of his time with the man, sparring and training, something Danny had never seen Viserys do before, nor take any interest in. 

When they had arrived at their new home, a fortified villa in the foothills of the Velvet Hills Danny had been amazed; it was a veritable palace, large, comfortable and luxuriously appointed. And Viserys had dressmakers from the nearest town come and fit her for a wardrobe the likes of which she had never had before.

Several moons had passed in an almost dreamy calm, Viserys was still somewhat distant towards her, but never cruel or petty, always respectful and proper. But there had been something lacking in her big brother, something she could not quite put her finger on. His eyes had seemed dead, lifeless, and when he looked at her sometimes she had shivered in fear, afraid that some spirit from the underworld had come and possessed her brother.

And he had grown had her brother, seeming to get taller and broader by the day, going from a slim and rather graceful young man to something else entirely. To a man that towered over everyone, to a man whose body seemed to be carved from great slabs of hard muscle, and whose only concerns appeared to be learning how to fight and deal death to his enemies. 

And then he had fallen ill, a fever had taken him, he had raged and mumbled and sweated for three days, before falling silent. Daenerys had been terrified, scared out of her wits by this, convinced that Viserys was going to die. And with her brother dead what then would become of her? She would either be killed to gain the reward the Usurper had on her head, or sold off into slavery; the price the last Targaryen would fetch no doubt making her a valuable commodity. She shuddered again at the memories of those days, her fear, nay, her terror at the thoughts of her brother dying, and of what would happen to her, to her name. 

And then Viserys had awoken and all of her prayers had been answered, gone was his distance, and his cruelties and pettiness were like an ill remembered dream. Her brother was attentive and kind to her every wish and whim, a perfect prince she had once called him jokingly. 

A with that had come dangerous, thrilling feelings, of wanting her brother in ways she could not explain, of luxuriating in being in his presence, of even a strange, hot pleasure of just looking at him. 

She knew, in a way that she did not even question, that her brother was a handsome man, and in the last year he had gotten even more handsome, his new height and bulk giving a powerful, attractive air about him. And she did find him attractive; she knew their Houses history and their tradition of brother wedding sister, and it did not scare her like it once did, not did it repulse her, she and Viserys were the last Dragons, and more pure blooded Targaryen’s could only come from a union between them. Oh there were plenty of those with the blood of Old Valyria in the Free Cities if needed, but there was no more Targaryen blood in the world, except that which flowed in her veins and those of her brother. 

But when she had broached the subject with Viserys he had seemed embarrassed, and he had told her that they would have most likely to marry others, in order to secure alliances to assist with their taking back the Iron Throne. Her heart had been torn by this revelation, but she had said nothing further on the matter, nursing her broken heart in private.

She was still a young girl, flowered yes but still too young to wed, and she had heard the Septa tell that her brother had been betrothed to Arianne of House Martell, a Princess of Dorne and heir to that great House. She was older than her, and according to Septa Lemore a great beauty in the fashion of women of Dorne and House Martell, dark of eye, hair and skin, passionate and wild.

Danny hated her from the moment Septa Lemore had said her name, a bitter, sour taste in her mouth and throat overwhelming her every time she thought of the Dornish slut or the Septa mentioned her name. 

And if Viserys was to be married to that, Dornish Princess, her mind hissed in displeasure at having to accord the chit such a title, and who would gain the title Queen when she married her brother, what of her? No doubt married off to whatever Lord in Westeros promised the biggest army to her brother’s cause, and from her lessons most likely one of the Tyrell’s from the Reach. 

“Very good your Grace” the Septa commented on her work, for Daenerys had kept diligently at her needle work as her mind had wandered “a single red dragon, rearing up fiercely, proudly.....your brother no doubt?” 

“Yes” replied Daenerys, noticing something dart unbidden in the depths of the Septa’s eyes, noticing the slightest of relaxations around the woman’s generous mouth. These tiny reactions by the Septa made Daenerys feel jealous for some unknown reason, making her ire rise and heat come into her voice “my brother will be a great man Septa Lemore, he will take back the Seven Kingdoms from the Usurper, he will bring the promise of our House’s words to our enemies, he will be the Red Dragon!”

Danny did not know where these words had come from, did not know why she had said them with such heat, with such belief, but she had faced down the Septa as she had said them, challenging the woman to deny her words, deny her prophesy.

A wistful smile ghosted across the woman’s plump lips before she replied “aye, your brother has the makings of a great man, of a conqueror to match the exploits of his famous forebears. Of that, I am certain.”

The way the woman said this was oddly not comforting to Daenerys, instead setting her teeth on edge, she narrowed her eyes slightly at the Septa, wondering just what was it about the way she spoke about her brother that had so unsettled her.

Before she could ponder more on this subject a servant announced that the evening meal was being served, she accompanied the Septa to the dining room, where the usual companions joined them for their meal. She only picked at her foods, the usual grilled, spicy meats and vegetables, rice and flat bread, all washed down with some yogurt based drink, flavoured with mint. Her mind was not letting her rest, strange emotions and thoughts spinning and tumbling in her mind, frightening her.

Claiming to be feeling a little unwell she left without finishing her meal, retreating to her room and the whirlwind of terrifying feelings that assailed her. She sat on her bed, allowing her servants to prepare her for bed, undoing her hair and brushing it out, selecting a night dress for her to wear. 

Climbing into bed sleep would not claim her and she lay there, staring up at the canopy above her bed, hearing the sounds of the villa wind down for the night, until a deep silence settled over everything.

But still sleep would not come to her, she tossed and turned, unable to shed the ever increasing compulsion to do, to do something...she was not even sure what exactly, but that did not seem to matter. Only that she listened to the confused jumble of emotions and the butterflies in her stomach and go to her brother.

She, she would.....offer herself to him; offer her body so that their blood would remain pure, so that no Dornish wench would taint their lineage. She did not care for alliances, they were the last Dragons, their blood demanded this of her, of Viserys. She did not know what happened between a man and a woman, but her brother would know what to do. And afterwards they would be wed, and the last of the Dragons would begin a new and greater dynasty.

With these drams bright in her head Daenerys left her chambers and tiptoed quietly along the corridors and balconies that led to the chambers of her brother, her heart pounding in her ears and a strange, heavy heat pooling low in her stomach.

Reaching the doors she paused, her breath juddering in her lungs, her skin feeling flushed and sensitive, with a twist of thought she shrugged out of her night gown to stand naked except for a pair of slippers on her feet.

Reaching up she gripped the door handle and gently bent the lever to open the door, slipping in Viserys’s room though the narrowest of cracks. 

She turned her head to face where she knew Visery’s bed was and a strangled cry was torn from her mouth in shock. 

In the dim candlelight provided by a single candle Septa Lemore was naked and on all fours across the bed, her skin slicked and her hair in disarray, plastered to her face and stuck to her shoulders and back. Her mouth was open and slack, incoherent sounds and moans escaping it, her eyes were also open but they were staring into nothingness, glassy and unfocused. Behind the Septa her Brother knelt, his groin thrusting towards the Septa, his hands gripping her waist, his skin drenched with rivulets of sweat, eyes shut and his jaw clenched, seeming to be almost in pain.

At her gasp her brothers eyes snapped open and his face dissolved into utter shock at seeing here there.

“FUCK!” escaped his lips as he seemed to jump back from the Septa and stumble off the bed, staggering around in front of the bed, a huge, glistening tube of flesh swinging between his legs, making Danerys gasp again, why she did not know.

As if suddenly realising that he was naked a strange curse flew from his mouth “Jesus Fucking Christ!!!” 

Viserys turned and grabbed a robe and hurriedly pulled it on over himself, Septa Lemore began to move from the bed, her face flushing deep red with embarrassment.

“You, stay!” commanded Viserys, giving the naked woman a quick glance, before returning his gaze to her, averting his eyes just a quickly, storming over to her and grabbing her arm in one of his huge hands.

“Owwwww!” she hissed as his grip tightened around her arm like a vice, as he dragged her out of his room, with one hand he spied her discarded night gown, picking it up he hissed “put this on!”

He released her to allow her to cover herself with her night gown, then gripped her arm tightly and marched off towards her room, not stopping until he had flung her onto her bed; he stood back from her bed, breathing hard through his nose, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Just what the absolute FUCK did you think you were doing Daenerys?” he grunted out through clenched teeth, his anger boiling off him in waves, making her heart hammer in her chest and her breath catch in her throat.

When she failed to answer him he asked again “Well Danny, I’m waiting for an answer?”

She cringed, unable to meet her brother’s furious gaze, nor to reply to his question.

“You sneak naked into my room in the dead of night sister; I wonder what might be on your mind?” Viserys said, his voice cold and hard, lashing at her, she felt tears squeeze from the corners of her eyes.

“Ironically it’s probably for the best that you came across me and the good Septa.....” Viserys muttered, his voice trailing off into silence. 

She sniffled in response, not sure what to say to that, and hugged her knees to her chest, unable to keep her sobs in she let them out, her body racking and rocking back and forth as she cried.

She felt Viserys sit on her bed and then his arms enfolded her, lifting her up into his embrace, she fought against him but he was too strong, wrapping his arms around her tightly and crushing her gently against his chest.

His lips started to dot her head with tiny little kisses as he mumbled into her hair “Sshhhh now my little dragon, don’t cry, everything will be alright, do not worry” as he rocked her gently back and forth, cuddling her to him.

Her sobs slowed and then ceased under the strong grip of her brother, in the enfolding safety of his thick arms and broad chest and Daenerys risked pulling back a little to look up into her brother’s face in the moon shot darkness.

It was so handsome she quailed, so strong and perfect looking, and she wanted to kiss him, but before she could he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips burning were they touched her flesh, leaving feverish tingles in their wake.

“Danny, Danny........” he signed, tilting his head until his forehead rested against hers “you are the most precious thing in the world to me Daenerys, more precious than even my life, but I don’t love you the way you seem to want to love me. I am your brother and no matter our heritage, our tradition, I..... we cannot do this sister, it would cost us too much, you know what we need to do, what is required of us to regain the Iron Throne, the alliances we will have to forge via marriage....”

“I don’t care” she whispered, taking a hand to stroke Viserys’s face, her fingertips almost stinging with tiny sparks of pleasure where they traced the contours of his face. “We are the last of the Dragons Viserys....” she pleaded, moving her head to bury it in the crook of his neck and chest, her face pressed against his skin, inhaling the heady scent of him, letting her lips trail across it, a moan escaping her mouth.

Viserys gripped her arms and pulled her away from him, his eyes locked on hers, searching for something she thought, before he said with a sigh “we are not the last of the Dragons Danny, there is another.”

Daenerys woke to see the dawn tingeing the eastern sky with the faintest of pink blushes, and she rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her, her mind instantly whirling and abuzz.

They had a cousin, a son of Rhaegar by Lyanna Stark, and currently safely hidden away in Winterfell, posing as Eddard Stark’s bastard son. She could scarce believe the tale that Viserys had told her, of their elder brother’s actions and the child who resulted from his marriage to Lyanna Stark. 

This changed everything for them, for this Jon, or Jaehaerys Targaryen as Lyanna Stark had named him, was technically the heir to the Iron Throne, and his claim was ahead of that of Viserys or hers.

Her and her brother had spent a long time discussing what this would mean for them, and if they should bring their cousin into their plans or not. She did not want to, while Viserys was of the opinion that she and this so called Jon Snow would be ideal to marry. She had scoffed at this, but Viserys had insisted, describing the boy as beautiful, a perfect blend of Targaryen and Stark looks.

“But, but he would be king, given, given his claim is better than yours Viserys?” she had asked her brother after he had extolled the virtues of their northern raised cousin, her voice full of concern and fear. 

“He would have the better claim to the Iron Throne, and some ambitious Lords would no doubt seek to use the boy to further their own ambition, especially if they could wed a daughter to him. Hence why I think you would be perfect in heading off that danger little sister....”

“You are trying to marry me off Viserys?” she replied, letting a tiny amount of mirth enter her voice, despite the pain in her heart. 

“It would be a good match, Jon Snow will be a good man, his father is Eddard Stark, and yes, I know he betrayed our father, but Aerys deserved to die. Rhaegar was planning to dethrone him you know, the great Tourney at Harenhall was supposed to be where Rhaegar sounded out the Great Lords for support for a move against Aerys. But then the Mad King left the Red Keep, something he had not done since Duskendale, scuppering Rhaegar’s plans, and everything went to shit....” 

“Sorry” Viserys stuttered “I got a little off track there. Yes, this Jon Snow, he will be a good husband for you, a kind and decent man, and honourable man. If there was any type of man to marry you Danerys it would be a man like Jon Snow.”

“But would he bring the North?” she asked, surprised that she could even ask such a question.

“Maybe, maybe not, given what our mad father did to the previous Lord Stark and his heir, but, but to be honest that is not important Danny, your happiness is more important.”

“I, I would, I would be happy with you Viserys”s he whispered, her eyes downcast, her hair falling around her head like a veil, cutting her off from his sure to be rejection of her desires.

“Danny” Vsierys sighed, his voice deep and rumbling above her head “I.........you are too young to truly know your own heart, you have much living and growing up to do still little one. Do not set in stone the fate of your life so early, please, if for no one else than for me, for the care and love that you have for me.....live your life. Soon enough you will be an adult, and even sooner the demands of the Great Game will impose upon you, robbing you of the innocence of childhood. There are....things that I have to do, things that will take me away from you sweet sister, I want you to be happy and carefree and most importantly I want you to remember you are a child, and cherish these times when you look back on them.”

“Why, why do you, why do you have to go away Viserys?.” She asked, a chilling fear crawling up her spine.

“There are things I must do, you do not need to know of them, you would only fret and worry unnecessarily my little dragon. But you will play a part in them in good time, do not fear.”

“I don’t, don’t want you to go away Viserys....”

“I don’t want to leave either, but I have to. I will be gone mayhaps six moons, no more.”

She started sobbing at that, and Viserys held her close once more in his arms, rocking her back and forth and making soothing noises until despite herself she fell asleep.

Daenerys pushed herself up from her bed and hopped down onto the floor, sliding her feet into her slippers, the dawn was more fully upon the sky now, the rim of the sun just visible above the horizon off to the east. 

The scent of freshly baked bread caught in her nostrils and her stomach growled, she remembered having not ate much for dinner the last evening.

She made up her mind, she would go down to the kitchens and snag some freshly baked bread, maybe drizzle some olive oil over it also, that would keep her hunger at bay until it came to break her fast properly.

Pulling a robe over her nightdress she ambled off, heading towards the kitchens, passing her brothers room without even realising it.

Her face flushed when she remembered last night, and her face reddened even more when she heard strange sounds coming from within.

It sounded to her ears as if Septa Lemore was choking or gagging on something, but then she was moaning and making slurping noises, like she was eating or drinking something. Then the choking noises started again, with groans from Viserys adding to the strange noises.

A memory of Viserys naked last night flashed through her mind’s eye, and Daenerys suddenly knew what Septa Lemore was choking on. Her face flushed she bolted away and down the stairs towards the kitchens, she would eat in the gardens and not risk passing her brother door on the return from the Kitchens.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big Bobby B's first and only POV

“Varys, I am getting sick and fucking tired of hearing about the exploits of Viserys fucking Targaryen!!!” he shouted, thumping the table in the Small Council meeting room for emphasis.

Gods, it was bad enough he had to listen to Ned bleating on about coppers, bad enough that Renly showed no sign of settling down and siring heirs, bad enough that Stannis was still sulking on Dragonstone, and his moustachioed wife showing nary a sign of producing a male heir. Bad enough that his own eldest son was a callow milksop, who grew up sheltered by his mothers skirts and who seemed to have nary a martial bone in his body. The less said about the younger one the better, he seemed to only have interest in cats and stuffing his face with pies and cakes. The girl at least seemed to be alright, quiet though, and sure to be a great beauty when she was older, with all the trouble that would bring. 

And his shrewish cunt of a wife was making his life utterly intolerable, not that living with the Lannister bitch had been anything but a torture since the day they wed. Aye she had been beautiful, still was in fact, but she did little or nothing for him, all he could ever see in her eyes was contempt and hatred. 

But now all he had to listen to was of the tales of Viserys Targaryen and the Golden Company, and how the dragonspawn was some Aegon the Conqueror come again! 

It had all started shortly after Ned had come south, with at the time the innocuous details of an unknown benefactor gifting coin, arms and supplies to the Nights Watch. Apparently several ships had docked at Eastwatch by the Sea and they had unloaded their wares as a gift for the Black Brothers, which was unusual in and of itself, but nothing untoward that he could see.

Apart from the size of gift, several thousand Gold Dragons and enough arms for all the Black Brothers, along with ale, wines and preserved meats and hundreds of feet of sturdy, woollen cloth. It was most unusual but he had made nothing of it, until Varys had picked up some interesting details, and in Braavos of all places.

Apparently the secret benefactor of the Nights Watch had been Viserys Targaryen, who had sent sealed letters to the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and to the Maester of the Nights Watch, who it turned out was a fucking Targaryen of all things! Varys did not know the contents of these letters, but the results had been an utter disaster.

Ned’s bastard boy, Jon Snow, who had been intent on joining the Nights Watch had instead eloped off to Essos, and Tyrion Lannister had never returned from his trip to the Wall, apparently kidnapped by persons unknown. But Varys’s informants had spotted the Imp in Braavos, in the company of a tall, sliver haired man, believed to be Viserys Targaryen. 

And of course this had gotten back to the Old Lion, who had ordered The Mountain that Rides and his band of merry cutthroats after the Targaryen cunt, totally ignoring him as King and putting the Iron Throne’s relations with Pentos in jeopardy.

Thankfully, and by the Gods he never thought he’d think that, but the Mountain that Rides and his crew were all killed apparently when they confronted the dragonspawn and members of the Golden Company just outside Pentos proper. Lorch and The Mountain were sent back to Tywin, salted but minus their heads, with a note indicating that the heads had been sent to Prince Doran Martell as a gift.

The rage of the Old Lion had been monumental to watch, but strangely satisfying all the same, he had to grudgingly admit that the dragon cunt had good sized stones on him. But any admiration, however small had soon soured as Varys had brought him tale after tale of the victories of so called ‘Red Dragon’, as Viserys was supposedly calling himself now.

He had joined up with the Golden Company and had apparently led them in a string of smashing victories in their latest contract with Myr in the Disputed Lands. According to rumour the Imp and Jon Snow were accompanying him, along with his Sister.

That northerner Jorah Mormont, who Varys had pinned such high hopes on was apparently accompanying Viserys also, and no sign of him actually earning his pardon either, both fucking Targs were still alive! 

“Well you grace” tittered the Spider in response, his fat face twisting into a very unsettling smile, by the gods but the Eunuch creeped him out something fierce, made his stones want to contract back up into his stomach every time he had to be in the same room as the Master of Whispers.

“You are unlikely to like what I have to say then” the Master of Whispers finished, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Out with it then!” he said, raising his voice in anger, despite not wanting to.

“It appears that the Golden Company has won a great victory over a Dothraki Khalasar, the Khalasar of one Khal Drogo, apparently the most powerful of all the Khals. The Dothraki were shattered in a battle just east of Ghoyan Drohe, with Khal Drogo being taken as a prisoner of the Golden Company.” 

“So, they beat some horse savages? Why should I care?” he asked, letting his anger boil a little higher.

Here Varys paused and then said in a low and rather scared voice “it, it has been rumoured that they burnt Khal Drogo and his bloodriders on a pyre afterwards and from it hatched three Dragons...”

“WHAT?!!!!” he roared, spluttering out the wine he had just imbibed.

“Dragons?” asked Ned, his pace pale and drawn looking, though that was how he always looked to be fair.

“Nonsense!” sputtered Pycele “dragons are gone from the world, never to return! And good riddance too!” the old fucker harrumphed.

“Baby Dragons as of yet your Grace.....Apparently the girl walked into the pyre and walked out unharmed with the three dragons clinging to her. Baby Dragons for now, but they are sure to grow.... ”

“Unless we fucking do something about them!” he smashed his fist on the table, feeling the familiar fury overtake him. “See Ned, this is what comes of your stupid ‘honour’, they should have been killed, both of ‘em!”

Before Ned Stark could reply, and probably annoy him ever further with some nonsense about honour the Spider tittered and said “there are also songs being sung that several thousand of the former warriors of Khal Drogo’s Khalassar have pledged their lives to Viserys Targaryen and now accompany him and the Golden Company in battle.”

“Great, just fucking great!” he barked, grabbing his cup of wine and emptying it in three long gulps, this day was just getting better and fucking better.....”Anything else while you are at it Varys? Anymore fucking news?”

“A few trivial matters your Grace” Varys responded , Robert beginning to feel the start of a headache pounding at his temples.

“VARYS!” he hissed “stop fucking teasing me man, or I’ll have you head off at your shoulders, I’m in no mood for your games!”

“Of course your Grace” Varys simpered, bowing his head “Apparently Viserys is making for Astapor, to purchase Unsullied. According to songs my little birds have overheard the last Targaryen is flush with coin, apparently his account in the Iron Bank holds the equivalent of 9 million Gold Dragons.”

“WHAT?!!!! HOW THE FUCK DID HE GO FROM A BEEGAR KING TO A CUNT RICHER THAN ME?” he shouted, straining his throat with his harsh words, noticing his cup was empty he turned his head to catch that cowering cunt of his cupbearer “MORE WINE YOU USELESS LANNISTER CUNT!” 

Lancel scampered over and refilled his cup, stupid blonde haired twat that he was, he managed to spill some, he gave him a cuff around the head for his troubles, sending the boy sprawling. Putting the Lannister prick from his mind Robert asked “Well? Can anyone answer my question, Littlefinger?”

Before his Master of Coin could answer it was Varys who replied “From what I have been able to discover, Viserys arrived in Braavos and met with the Iron Bank, depositing the majority of that sum of coin with them. As to where exactly the coin came from, I have not yet been able to determine your Grace.”

“What fucking good are you to me Spider, if you cannot answer my questions eh?” he grumbled, turning on Baelish “well Master of Coin, you seem to be able to magic coin out of thin air, you got any ideas?”

“I fear it would only be speculation on my part your Grace but maybe the Targaryens salted away coin in Essos for, a, a ‘rainy day’ as it where?”

“A ‘rainy day’ Baelish eh? More like they headed your Houses words Ned ‘Winter is coming’....”

“The Unsullied are a fearsome fighting force your Grace” coughed Pycelle, finally deciding to contribute to the conversation, the old Grand Maester seeming to have been asleep for the past few minutes. “Their training makes them immune to fear or panic, they will not break on the battlefield, should Viserys be able to purchase sufficient numbers of Unsullied, in combination with the Golden Company, Dothraki and, and dragons.....he may be a significant threat your Grace.” 

“Oh, why thank you Grand Maester” snickered Renly “your grasp of the immediately obvious is stunning, remind me again what link on your chain is for that?”

Pycelle harrumphed in displeasure but was wise enough to say nothing in return, spineless old cunt that he was. 

“Ned, we are going to have to deal with this sooner rather than later, we need them dead, along with their dragons!” he turned to face Ned, whose face looked even longer and more hang dog than usual.

“Cheer up man!” he laughed “It’s a war Ned, and we need to move fast, before those blasted dragons get too big either! And send a fucking raven to Stannis and tell him to get his sorry ass here as soon as possible, we are going to need the Royal fleet!”

“Robert, what are you planning?” asked Ned, his face aghast.

“We are going to root out those dragons before they come to us Ned! I won’t stand for them anymore Ned, I won’t!”

With that he stood up and stormed out of the Small Council meeting, his mind alive and alight for the first time in he did not know how long, he had a war to plan and dragonspawn to smash!

Ah, this was the life, away from that shithole of a city and that nest of fucking vipers that was the Red Keep, out in the good, fresh air of the Kings Wood, and with things to kill.

Nothing like a good hunt to help relax a body and prepare it for the coming of war. He thrilled at the prospect, and fuck the naysayers who had almost at once tried with their mealy mouthed words to dissuade him.

Fuck all of them, were they all stupid? The Targs had dragons, there was no time left to deal with them, it was either kill then now or die later when they came back. Aegon had conquered Westeros with three Dragons, did these fucks not read they histories? No, the Targs had to be dealt with now, and if that meant stepping on toes in Essos so be it! Hah! ‘stepping on toes’, he’d fucking crush anyone who got in his way, it was high time those so called ‘Free Cities’ and the perfumed pricks who ruled them got a taste of good old fashioned Westerosi steel! 

Ned had tried to see him almost immediately after the Small Council meeting, bringing up copper counting of all fucking things! Wringing his hands and saying that the realm was far too heavily in debt to mount such a military expedition. Ned? Of all people being concerned over coin? What had the world come to? He had dismissed Ned, saying that either Littlefinger or Tywin Lannister would come up with the needed coin, and not to worry about nonsense such as a few coppers.

After dismissing Ned, who had been uncomfortably persistent, he had decided that what he needed was a good fuck to clear his head, and then a hunt, yes a hunt, that would be perfect, get away from all this shit and start planning for the war to come.

Damm but he had known that there was a war coming, he’d said so to Ned on the trip back from Winterfell, he’d known it in his stones! And his stones were sore in need of draining, and he did not feel like going to Cersei for relief, though he would have to fuck the bitch soon enough. He had his duty after all. Hah! ‘Duty’, that was a load of bollocks if he ever heard it! Now he only fucked Cersei because she hated him, and he liked taking the haughty Lannister cunt, them both knowing that she could not say him no. And what was even more enjoyable was the fact that Cersei’s cunt would get wet no matter how rough he fucked the bitch; no matter how little he cared for her pleasure. 

He debated taking a serving wench or several for his enjoyment, there were a few particularly choice looking ones he favoured, big busted lasses who tittered and giggled as he fondled them, and who moaned and groaned appreciatively as he gave them a good fucking. 

But his musings had been interrupted by that whore monger Baelish, which had sparked an entirely different avenue of potential pleasures in his mind.

The greasy little cunt had come to tell him more bad news, news which Littlefinger had apparently been loath to share with the Small Council, for apparently the Iron Bank was refusing any more loans to the Iron Throne. The dammed Braavosi ingratiates were insisting on repayment of at least half of all the coin they owed them before they would consider loaning them another copper penny.

Cunts, coin grasping cunts, that’s all those Braavosi were, always fumbling and shuffling their coin about, as if it meant something, as if with was actually worth anything! 

And then Baelish had gotten to the real reason why he had collared him, a sly proposal to break Joffrey’s betrothal to Ned’s Sansa in return for a betrothal to Margaery Tyrell, in return for the riches of the Reach.

He had to admire the stones on Littlefinger, for the plan was nothing if not ambitious, and it had a certain practicality to it. But he had bunched up the material at Baelish’s throat in his fist and lifted the little shylock up off the ground, telling him in no uncertain terms that there would be no marriage alliance with the Reach. 

Putting the little shit back down he had instead demanded several of Baelish’s finest whores on his usual terms, or for free, and that he was quick about it!

While he had been waiting for his promised bevy of Baelish’s beauties to arrive Pycelle had demanded admittance to his solar, he had gritted his teeth and he was determined to send the doddering old fool packing.

Instead Pycelle had actually made some sense, telling him of potential poisons that could be used against young dragons and of other methods that could be used to harm the beasts. Fascinating stuff but he rapidly lost interest as the old fucker had rambled on, and he had dismissed him when several young ladies were introduced to him by Baelish, among them a very fetching looking northern red head called Ros. 

Robert dragged his mind back to the present, gods but that lass Ross had a talented mouth and tongue, and an asshole as tight as he had ever fucked. 

“Renly, you ever fuck a Riverlands girl?”

“Once, I think...”

“You think? I think you’d remember. Back in our day you weren’t a real man until you’d fucked one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and The Riverlands! We used to call it ‘making the eight’!”

“Those were some lucky girls” Renly replied, he missed completely the sarcastic tone in Renly’s voice, being too busy asking “You ever ‘make the eight’ Barristan?”

“I don’t believe so your Grace” his Kingsguard replied.

“Hahahahaha, those were the days!”

“Which days exactly?” asked Renly, anger rising in his voice “the one’s were half of Westeros fought the other half and millions died? Or before that, when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it. Or way before that, when dragons burned whole cities to the ground?”

“Easy boy” he growled at Renly, disappointed that his brother had sought to challenge him here, to try and piss on his hunt and annoy him. “You might be my brother, but you’re speaking to the King.”

“I suppose it was all rather heroic if you were drunk enough, and had some poor Riverlands whore to shove your prick inside and make the eight!” Renly snarled back at him, the dammed ingratiate! And before he could give Renly a piece of his own mind the lad stormed off! The cheek of him! 

Now where was he, oh yes that curvy northern minx Ros....no, the war to come with the last of the dragonspawn. The way to do it would be to fix them in place somewhere and then crush them, hrmmm. Perfect, coming back from Astapor, that would be it, Stannis could make up for his failure the first time to end the last of the dragons. The Royal Fleet would not be enough though, he’d need ships from the Crownlands and the Vale also, might need Balon Greyjoy’s reaving cunts too. But secrecy was key, nobody could know until they were at sea what was afoot. And he’d come along with Stannis this time to make sure he did the job properly, and fuck him and his attitude.

Calculating distances and sailing times it would be just possible to thought, but he’d need to talk with Stannis and that onion knight of his to confirm his plan. If it was not possible then it might be necessary to actually land in Essos and smash the dragons with his banners, the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Stormlands and the Westerlands would definitely be with him on that score. It would be a matter of shipping space, let Stannis arrange it than and keep him in charge of the fleet, let him stew afloat. Yes, that was a better plan, less risky, and more chance to piss Stannis off also, ahh, the thoughts of a good war, it could take years off a man so it could.

He had better start getting in shape though, he would need his strength for what was to come, and he wanted to be in at the kill, wanted to smash that fucker Viserys just like he smashed Rhaegar! 

He would probably have to leave Ned behind in Kings Landing though, it would probably be for the best, he did not want to be burdened with ruling while he was concentrating on dealing with the dragonspawn. No, Ned would have to stay and rule as Hand of the King, his old friend would not like that but it would have to be so, oh he could already feel the joy at not having to sit on that uncomfortable iron monstrosity and just have to concentrate on smashing skulls!

One of the beaters called out “boar tracks your Grace, fresh to!”

Ah good, finally, something to kill!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the Benefits of the Command Console and meeting the Starks

Viserys II

“Welcome Lord Stark, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya” I said smoothly to the three utterly amazed and frankly terrified Northerners, who stumbled, blinked and started to babble incoherently as they suddenly found themselves removed from where they had previously been and were now in my presence.

The command MOVE was handy like that, though restrictive as it did not allow me to teleport, unlike one Petyr Baelish. Speaking of said Master of Coin, he was still living, as his ambition and wish for chaos would serve my needs, at least for now anyway. I had to admit that I had tried to use the Command KILL to get rid of Baelish, but it had not worked for some reason, likewise for several other characters whose removal would have eased my path to the Iron Throne. 

And to think that all of Littlefinger’s diligent work in bankrupting the realm would be for naught as I could create Gold Dragons from thin air, the Iron Bank of Braavos was currently sitting on nine million newly minted Viserys III Gold Dragons. That ability of mine had come in handy when hiring the Golden Company, this time they would actually work for me as opposed to eat and drink at my expense and then tell me to fuck off. 

The monthly rate for the Golden Company was 30,000 Gold Dragons, and I’d hired them for two years, half paid up front and the rest on completion of their contract. An interesting caveat of the contract was that they could hire themselves out in the meantime before I intended to invade Westeros, so they could make even more money of they wished. The only stipulation was that I and my crew would accompany them and that I would receive training and battle experience with them. Of course they got the benefits of my ‘cheats’ – both directly and indirectly, battles were easy when the enemy suffered catastrophic falls in competency and morale just before a battle and when the individual stats of the members of the Golden Company steadily rose over the course of a few months.

The leadership of the Golden Company were not idiots, they noticed these ‘changes’ and, well, they confronted me over them, I had passed this off as ‘magic due to you being in my presence’, the best I could think of at short notice. As I was so obviously superior to them in combat and martial skill the leaders of the Golden Company were happy to accept this explanation on face value. 

On reflection I should have used MOVE to grab Jon Snow and Tyrion that way, much cleaner and easier, but such is hindsight. Anyway back to my new ‘guests’, the Stark trio - a Ned Stark released from the Black cells, a Sansa Stark free from the clutches of Cersei Lannister and a dirty Arya Stark, dressed like a boy.

“How, where?” stuttered Ned Stark, as Sansa and Arya rushed to him and flung themselves into his arms, crying and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Magic Lord Stark, let’s just say it was magic” I replied, letting the Stark family reunion sort itself out before I cleared my throat to draw his senior Stark’s attention to me.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked in a conversationally tone, as if the three headed dragon banner hung behind me, the black and red clothing I was wearing and the three baby dragons who playfully nipped and climbed over Daenerys, who was seated beside me, did not give away who I was.

“Aye” answered Ned Stark warily, gently pushing his daughters away slightly to draw himself up to his full height, his eyes squinting and watering from having been in the darkness of the Black cells for so long.

“Are, are those dragons.....” Arya hissed in awe, making to move towards Danny, her father’s hand roughly grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and hauling her back before she could take more than single step.

“Yes they are” Daenerys said smoothly, a thin smile on her face “and I am their mother, their names are Agamemnon, Temeraire and Bellerophon.”

The three names coincided with the canon names of Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion for the three dragons, and yes, they were named after Royal Navy battleships, so sue me, I was an RN fanboi and the dragons of the restored Targaryen dynasty would be taking RN warship names from now on. Said dragons were about three months old and who were growing rapidly, already they were the size of large house cats. And they had suitably feline dispositions, being already as arrogant and wilful as any so called domestic cat, fortunately there were TRAITS to deal with that, I had given Danny, Jon and I DRAGON MASTER, and Danny had MOTHER OF DRAGONS. 

Which had appeared in her stats rather conveniently just as I had burned Khal Drogo and his bloodriders, I knew this because we had burned them and nothing had happened. Frantically I had checked Danny’s stats and mine on the off change that new TRAITS had become available, noticing MOTHER OF DRAGONS just as Danny had decided to walk into the flames, I had restrained Jorah from stopping her, watching my tiny sister stride into the conflagration and walk out naked a few moments later with three newly hatched dragons wrapped around her.

“Say my name” comes from my lips, my eyes fixed on Ned Stark, his daughters both picking up on the sudden tenseness in the air of the large tent that I used as my command and living tent. It’s more of a small pavilion than anything else, but anyway, it’s suitably sized and furnished to do proper duty as my status permitted, such as it is.

“You, you are Prince Viserys Targaryen.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I am King Viserys Targaryen, 3rd of my name, and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms” I point to the crown on my head “and this is the Crown of Aegon the Conqueror.” I stand up and grip the sword belted to my waist, pulling it free “this is Dark Sister, one of the two ancestral swords of House Targaryen.” Nice to be able to use the ARTIFACTS available to me to cower Ned Stark, and speaking of ARTIFACTS I had a whole load to Valyrian Steel swords if I needed them, handy to dole out to Houses as a reward for their loyalty in the wars to come eh? And there was even ICE itself in my inventory, the original no doubt soon to be melted down by the Lannister’s into two swords. 

Ned Stark says nothing in response, his face set hard, but with a somewhat resigned look upon his face, he clutches his daughters to his side and tries to push them behind him, obviously seeking to protect them from me. 

“But where are my manners? Lord Stark, Lady Arya, you both look like you could make use of baths and a change of clothes, you too Lady Stark. I’m sure we have clothing more suitable to this climate for all of you. My men will escort you a tent set aside for your use, servants have been assigned to you and they will take care of your needs. We will meet again in an hour or two at sunset to dine and we will talk further.”

With that some of the Golden Company Guards move towards the Starks and escort them out of the tent.

“Well?” I ask Daenerys, sitting back down and accepting Agamemnon hopping into my lap for scratches behind the ear, or where ears would be if a dragon had ears.

“They are traitors, I don’t understand why you are bothering with them” huffed Daenerys, concentrating on playing with the two dragons who were alternatively hissing at each other and trying to monopolise Danny’s attention.

“The Starks rightly rebelled when our father burned their Lord and heir for no justifiable reason, or at least without even a semblance of due process. Eddard Stark helped put Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne, but Robert Baratheon is dead, the boy who sits on the Iron Throne is a bastard born of vile incest between Cersei and Jamie Lannister. Lord Stark and his daughters gives us the North, Dorne will side with us because they hate the Lannisters and want vengeance, the Reach will no doubt try and arrange a marriage between me and Margaery Tyrell in return for aiding us.”

“But, are you not already betrothed to Princess Arianne Martel?” asks Danny, heat colouring her face.

“Allegedly so, apparently arranged on my behalf by either the Spider or the Cheesemonger, or both maybe. But let’s not talk of that now shall we, you are upsetting your babies” I grin at Danny, the dragons are sensitive to her moods and as her temper had risen at the mention of the Dornish princess the three tiny lizards had become agitated. 

And agitated dragons, even ones this small, can be problematical, a snapping and hissing match developed as the three brats ended up tussling and biting at each other on the floor, their antics were amusing now, but when they were bigger, and could breath flame?

The DRAGON MASTER Trait was supposed to allow us to control the dammed things but for the life of me it did not seem to be working, they tolerated me but only seemed to pay Daenerys any heed or abbey her commands. 

Interestingly I could access the Dragons in the CK2 Command Console, but like Danny, they appeared to have ‘immature’ Traits only as of yet....hrmm, maybe I could use AGE to age them up, make them bigger? Huh, I could technically do the same for Daenerys also, wasn’t it age 16 when CK2 considered you an ‘adult’ and able to be given ‘adult’ traits? 

Something to ponder for another later on though as Jon Targaryen and Tyrion Lannister were ushered into the tent, having removed the Genetic Trait DWARF Tyrion Lannister was now a strapping six footer, and handsome as handsome does to boot. This one act had ensured his, and I quote ‘undying loyalty’ to me personally, the ex-dwarf had a sharp mind and was a good conversationalist, though he retained a strong love of the drink as they say. Though I knew the price of Tyrion’s loyalty would be not killing Jamie outright, which I supposed I could live with, but not before I heaped a good dose of humiliation on the golden boy for his dereliction of his knightly vows. I’d checked Jamie’s stats and I was way better than him in everything, so if it came to a one on one fight, I would be able to beat him pretty easily.

Jon Targaryen on the other hand, well I’d just adjusted his stats way up and given him a raft of useful Traits, he was still a tad sullen and reserved, but he would soon grow out of it, hopefully.

“Well your Grace?” asked Tyrion, making his way to a small table with a carafe of wine and pouring himself a glass.

“Went about as well as can be expected, I’ve sent them to bathe and change and they will join us for dinner later on, then we can get down to ‘brass tacks’ as the northerners say.”

“I’ve never heard that saying before?” blurted out Jon Targaryen, Daenerys tittering at this outburst from the usually taciturn ex Snow.

I’d made the lad aware of his true heritage when I had met him and Tyrion in Braavos, a letter to the Old Bear directing him to send Jon Snow to me as payment for the haul of money and supplies I’d gifted the Nights Watch. Tyrion I’d essentially kidnapped and had him come along for the ride, it prevented that daft fish Catelyn Tully from kidnapping him and igniting the WOTFK’s. Which may or may not have been a bad move, after all it did derail canon to a significant extent and with it my meta knowledge of the universe.

I’d been in Braavos to deposit a stupendous amount of coin into my account and to square things away with the Iron Bank, specifically the upcoming planned crash of the Westeros economy by Littlefinger. His plan was to overextend the Iron Bank’s cash position by dint of the crown’s debt to the Iron Bank and precipitate it calling in its loans across Westeros to cover its cash shortfall. This would cause many Houses who owed the Iron Bank monies significant problems, and Littlefinger’s plan was to swoop in and offer coin to cover these House’s debts, in return for them becoming effective vassals of his. And as to what the Mockingbird planned to do with this power? Well as the cuntish little shylock himself said ‘chaos is a ladder’.

My nine million Gold Dragons would restore the liquidity of the Iron Bank and stymie this plan of Baelish’s, and in return the Iron Bank were more than happy to cease all new lending in Westeros, except to those who I approved of. And once the current occupant of the Iron Throne was removed? Well a third of what was on deposit with the Iron Bank would pay the crowns debt off if needs be, and even if the legendary mines of Casterly Rock were dry, I had a certain cheat that could fix that problem, now didn’t I? 

The Kit Harrington lookalike had taken the reveal of his identity badly at first, hard to take when you realise that the man you worshiped as your father had been lying to you all along eh? And especially when it was such a paragon of honour as Ned Stark, which was one of the reasons why Jon had not been present when I had used the MOVE command on the Stark trio.

Oh Jon and Ned would soon meet, and that I hoped would be interesting, in all sorts of meanings of that word. Mister ‘I dun wanna it’ was true to form and did not want to be King, even after I had offered him it on a plate, fuck I’d even thrown in Danny as a betrothal to sweeten the deal, her deep crimson blushing when told of this had been a delight to see.

But no, Jon wanted nothing to do with being King, and after he had witnessed me remove the curse of dwarfism from Tyrion Lannister he had sworn himself to my service and foresworn any claim to the Iron Throne. In return I’d named him a Targaryen and a Prince of the Blood, my heir until I had sons of my own. This little titbit I was keeping under the carpet for now, Varys knew and he would let this slip strategically when the time was right, which would be in about two months time, along with the news that Ned Stark and daughters were enjoying the comfort of my hospitality.

Rob Stark would also be informed of these developments at the same time, with Ned not going to be trimmed by a head on the steps of the Sept of Baelor and with the Mountain that Rides not have gone on his little murder spree in the Riverlands, the Seven Kingdoms were actually not fighting at all strangely enough.

Without the chaos of Ned Stark’s death, the still violent transition of power to Joffrey had not resulted in the outbreak of a five way civil war as it had in canon. The North had called its banners but it was simmering in anger beyond Moat Cailin, watching events in Kings Landing closely, or as close as they could seeing as they had no fucking spy network, the idiots.

No doubt Petyr Baelish was plotting to try and stir things up further, but according to the latest missives from Varys, he had successfully stumped Littlefinger’s varied schemes. The disappearance of Ned Stark and his daughters will hopefully ignite furious recrimination and the Lions turning on themselves and their supporters. In fact I was sure of it, for that was one of the items Varys had planned, pinning the blame for the escape attempt on parties who were either loyal to Baelish or who he supported.

Stannis stewed on Dragonstone and Renly had retreated to Storms End, he had sounded out the Tyrell’s about a bid for the Throne but Olenna Tyrell had told Renly to fuck off, but not in so many words. Well according to Varys anyway, whose intelligence network was good but with the Command Console and the command PLOTS_KNOW I was at last equal and probably superior to the Spider when it came to intelligence. 

But in spite of everything the rumours of Joffrey’s parentage had not set Westeros aflame just yet, despite the best covert efforts of Varys, Stannis could not get enough support and even with his pet Red Witch goading him on he had not declared himself the one true King, or whatever he had called himself in canon. 

With Renly sent away by the Tyrell’s with a flea in his ear Balon Greyjoy was sitting tight in the Iron Islands, but no doubt just waiting for an opportunity to present itself so that he could declare a return to the ‘Old Ways’. I hoped he would find an excuse if I was honest, it would make burning those pesky islands down to their bedrock easier with a proper justification.

I grinned at Jon Snow “It does not matter nephew, we will discuss the Stark’s bending the knee to me later on, stubborn as the man who raised you is, he won’t stand for Joffrey Waters on the Iron Throne, of that you can be certain. I could wait until the dragons are bigger, but that would leave the realm at the tender mercies of Joffrey Waters and the Lannister’s, sorry Lord Tyrion...”

“None taken your Grace” replied the former smallest Lannister “my father and sister are determined to destroy whatever good name my family had.”

“Quite” I replied, Cersei had carried out a thorough purge of Baratheon loyalists and an equally bloody and public elimination of Robert’s numerous bastards in Kings Landing, even going so far as to demand the heads of Myra Stone and Edric Strom. Tywin Lannister had been ensconced as Hand of the King and he was up to his usual tricks of seeing every tiny slight against House Lannister as a personal insult and thus demanding inappropriate and overwhelming violence as a response.

So while Westeros was not in open revolt, it was instead primed to explode, or so Varys was keen to inform me. But I was not rushing in just yet, I had an Army of Unsullied to collect, and this time said Unsullied would be purchased with Gold Dragons up front. The Unsullied would help with the conquest of Westeros, if it came to that, but their main use would be against the Ice Zombies, unbreakable troops sounded to me like a good idea when dealing with the Army of the Dead.

Temeraire, the green scaled dragon had been sauntering over to Jon as we spoke, well sauntering is the wrong word, dragons are not the most mobile of creatures on the ground after all. He started to rub his neck against Jon’s legs and Jon relented to this attention and picked up the dragon, who made contended purring sounds at this. Wrapping itself around Jon’s shoulder and neck Temeraire promptly seemed to fall asleep, if the frankly cute little ‘baby noises’ it started making were any indication. 

“Anyway, Lord Stark is here and safe, along with his daughters, Lord Robb Stark should stay in the North once he gets word that his father and sisters are no longer in Lannister captivity. The Vale is under Lady Lysa Arryn’s control, who is in turn under Littlefingers control, the Stormlands simmers and rumbles but as yet does nothing really. Dorne wants vengeance, but they always want vengeance for something or other, the Riverlands will as is usual likely bear the brunt of any fighting, Joffrey is apparently spitting mad to go and ‘teach Robb Stark a lesson’. Needless to say the marriage bonds between the North and the Riverlands makes this a likely spark for a major war.”

“What about the Iron islands?” asks Jon, confusion in his voice.

“Fuck the Iron Islands!” is my response, I continue with “they are a nuisance at best, a trouble to be dealt with at a later date at worst.” And yes I was aware of Euron Greyjoy, who had woken one morning shorn of his eldritch powers and with a fatal dose of as many DISEASES I could stack on him until his Health dropped to zero. So that was one less troubling pest to deal with, pity I could not do the same to the Three Eyed Raven, or even fucking Joffrey for Gods sake! Nor could I use MOVE on him and just bring him to me and send his salted head back to Kings Landing, a tad inconvenient that. 

The Dothraki Khallasar of Khal Drogo had been dealt with in a similar fashion to Euron Greyjoy, a smorgasbord of DISEASES reducing it to a puking, shitting, coughing and bleeding mob of suddenly very craven and useless cunts. They had been swept aside by a heavy cavalry charge from the Golden Company, and the battle itself had been little but a mop up operation. Drogo and his Bloodriders had been captured for later use in birthing dragons, several thousand of the defeated warriors had actually pledged their lives to me, in a totally unexpected move, but I was not going to turn down the finest light cavalry in the world. And yes, these were ‘proper’ cavalry, organised like the Mongols and capable of using proper tactics and weapons, unlike the paper cut outs of Mongols that Georgie boy had described. 

Several hours later we all meet up again, along with the Starks for dinner, and once more the Starks are left rather open mouthed, seeing Jon for one, and a normal sized Tyrion Lannister for two. Add in the fact that Jon, Daenerys and I each have a dragon draped around our shoulders, the feline flying lizards having been fed and they were now drowsy and a little more compliant. Oh and they are not yet flying, that’s just a figure of speech, but hopefully they will learn to fly soon, and then the fun will begin eh?

Introductions are made all round, I’ve also brought along my usual companions, so Septa Lemore, Jorah, Ser Rolly Duckfield and Syrio Forel, along with Harry Strickland and Lysono Maar. 

Sansa and Arya are amazed by the reveal of Jon being a Targaryen; he’s dressed in black and red garb and is adorned with a snoozing baby dragon, so even if they had been stupid they would have gotten the not so subtle hints. Ned Stark is less than pleased, as is to be expected but fuck him and his honour, Jon was a Prince of the Blood now and my heir to boot.

Jon for his part was none too pleased to be meeting Ned again either and though he accepted Lord Stark’s somewhat desperate apology for the fiction of his bastardry Jon was less than forgiving for the treatment he let his wife meet out to Jon.

And good on Jon too, that floppy trout of a wife of Ned’s was as daft as a brush and her actions had led directly to the virtual destruction of House Stark, in my opinion anyway.

So the atmosphere around the table was less than stellar it had to be said, but I did not care really, Ned Stark was alive and his daughters would not go through their travails as they did in canon. The North would be allied to me, a significant turn of events, and it satisfied the Stark fanboi that still lurked somewhere inside me.

Eventually after one pregnant silence too many Ned Stark finally decided to ask the fookin’ question, Christ on a stick but these northerners were a reticent lot.....

“What, what is to become of me and my daughters, your Grace?”

“Well for now you will enjoy my hospitality as your station demands. I intend to reclaim the Iron Throne from the bastard who sits atop it” and at this Sansa lets out a gasp and Ned Stark gives me a fierce glower.

Fuck him “Oh, does the Lady Sansa not know why her Lord father was betrayed? No?” I hold Ned Starks grey eyes “Obviously not” I turn away from Ned Stark and instead fix my gaze on Sansa Stark.

“Look at me when I am talking to you girl” I say, softly but with obvious command in my voice waiting until a pair of terrified Tully blue eyes meet mine.

“Prince Joffrey Baratheon is neither a Prince nor is he a Baratheon, he is a bastard born of the incest between his uncle and his mother, his parents are Jamie and Cersei Lannister.”

The girl’s eyes go wide at this and she is about to say something in reply, no doubt something foolish and stupid, so I beat her to the punch.

“All of Cersei’s children are bastard born of incest with her brother; they have not a single drop of Baratheon blood in their veins. Joffrey’s cruelty and stupidity are a result of him being born of incest. But yet you could not see that Sansa, why not I wonder? Is it because your pretty little head was so filled with nonsense by your Septa and your mother that you could not see the truth that was in front of you?” 

“Your Grace!” interrupts Ned Stark, I turn to him and snarl “It is bad enough that you denied one of my blood his rights, but it is unforgivable that you allowed your wife to insult and belittle one of Royal Blood. Be glad I don’t lop your head off like Joffrey was going to!”

Sansa gasps again and I whip my head back to glare at her “do not avert your eyes girl, I warn you!” I spat out as the now terrified girl slowly returned her gaze to my eyes.

“You thought Joffrey to be your ‘perfect golden Prince’ but yet when he came across Arya and Mycah fighting what did he do Sansa? Well, answer me, what did he do?”

When the girl refused to say anything and instead started crying I continued on “he drew live steel on your sister and her companion, and was then disarmed and he cried like the milksop coward he was when Arya turned his own blade on him. And then what did you do in the tavern afterwards when the Robert Baratheon asked you what happened? You lied to protect Joffrey and as a result your Direwolf was killed, you let the Lannister’s kill a fucking DIREWOLF!! The Sigil of your House? What sort of a Stark are you girl?”

Sansa darted from the table at this, balling tears; Ned Stark went to follow her.

“SIT!” I commanded “sit down Lord Stark. Septa Lemore, please attend to Lady Starks well being.”

“Yes your Grace” came the reply as she stood up and exited the dining tent to follow the fleeing Sansa Stark.

“Now Lord Stark, to business, the North will declare for me, as suitable recompense for the dishonour shown to my nephew, you kept him alive and for that I am grateful, but your wife’s treatment of him, that, that is a difficult thing for me to forgive or forget Lord Stark.”

And so Ned Stark promised to bend the knee to me, and with there being no time like the present I had him do it right then and there, much to his discomfort it had to be said. But he was committed to removing Joffrey from the Iron Throne, and instead of supporting Stannis he would be supporting me. I made no other demands of him or the North, I would not punish him further, he suspected that I was angrier with him than I was in reality, that berating of Sansa Stark was a tad indulgent of me, but fuck it, it had felt good. 

Ironically Ned Stark then broached the subject of marrying Jon and Sansa, a mightily strange thing to hear him say I had to admit, but maybe Ned Stark was displaying a modicum of sense and ability to play the Game of Thrones?

Maybe, maybe not, but I was lukewarm to the idea of a betrothal, and equally non committal when he broached Robb and Daenerys, huh, what was with this suddenly scheming Ned Stark, or was this just him looking out for his children? I’d take a look at him later on in the Command Console as see what was what. 

And so Ned Stark was brought somewhat into my confidence, I explained the machinations of Littlefinger and his financial gerrymandering, making sure to mention of Baelish’s oft repeated boast of having taken the maidenheads of both Tully sisters. That got Ned all hot and bothered under the collar, though he was not wearing northern garb, he was wearing light woollens and linens instead, though in muted Stark colours.

Sansa and Arya had been wearing light dresses, Sansa liking hers but Arya fretting uncomfortably in it I had not failed to notice. When the talk had turned to politics Arya had been dismissed, but not before I had promised that she could train with Syrio Forel, over the muted and ultimately futile objections of her father.

This had sent Arya away bright eyed and bushy tailed as they say, and Syrio seemed happy enough to have a new pupil. 

Ned Stark would write a letter to Robb the next day outlining that he had bent the knee to me and instructing Robb to not do anything rash and await further instructions from him. And with the dinner winding down I made my excuses and returned to my tent, happy to see a naked Septa Lemore kneeling on a cushion beside my bed.

I gave the naked Septa a smile and began undressing “too much for the Stark girl?” 

“Maybe your grace” she husked, licking her lips as I disrobed “the girl is an empty headed idiot, what her mother and her Septa were thinking of I do not know.”

“You will have to teach Sansa Stark the truth of the world, but in the meantime...” I said, waving my by now rock hard cock in Lemore’s face.

“But of course your grace” she purred, sliding her plump lips over the head of my cock, drawing a contended moan from my mouth and a muffled groan of pleasure from the good Septa’s mouth.


End file.
